New Arrangements
by Syntyche
Summary: A/U. Qui-Gon Jinn is less than pleased when the Council assigns him a new Padawan – one who should be old enough to undergo the Trials instead. But why isn't Kenobi a Jedi yet?
1. I

I debated whether or not to post this fic, seeing as how I have a couple "in-progress" fics already posted, but then I thought, why not? Bring on the Obi angst!

**Title:** New Arrangements

**Author:** Syntyche (Who Can't Get Enough Obi-Wan Kenobi)

**Rating:** PG-13

**Reviews:** Comments will be adored and cherished. (_doooo iiiiiit….)_ it only takes a minute, but it makes an author's day.

**Summary:** Qui-Gon Jinn is less than pleased when the Council assigns him a new Padawan – one who should be old enough to undergo the Trials instead. But why _**isn't**_ Kenobi a Jedi yet?

**Author's Note:** This fic turned out strangely wordy, sort of like Mortal Coil. I know that sometimes that can make it somewhat difficult to get through without **really** paying attention, so I apologize in advance if anyone has any trouble staying awake while reading this fic. This is one of 17 Obi-Wan fics currently languishing unfinished on my hard drive, all containing ridiculous amounts of angst and Grumpy Qui-Gon Drama ... I may have issues, but they're just so damn much fun.

Read on, please leave a review if you can, and the next chap of the Rewrite should be up sometime this weekend.

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter One

Rain lashed against his large common room window, the bleak grey skies from whence the downpour came echoing his mood as surely as if his dark thoughts themselves had created this sudden, severe shift in the previously calm twilight. Lightning flashed, and thunder pounded through the heavens.

The perpetually crowded streams of air traffic were slowed to almost a crawl as their pilots and captains fought for visibility in the rapidly darkening sky. He watched them idly, his thoughts cast far from the Temple, and the large, strong fingers of his left hand tapped a distracted tattoo where they rested on his folded right elbow.

He was not a happy man, though his personal credo embraced seeking the good from any situation, whether difficult or easy. He was not currently a patient man, either, though he usually counseled patience and a clear head through all circumstances. And his thoughts, though he himself so often advised quiet clarity, were cloudy and troubled, as turbulent as the weather outside his window. He was finding it hard to follow his own advice, as difficult now to accept his own familiar counsel as that of the members of the Order he so often butted stubbornly against.

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn frowned, breaking from his silent vigil of the storm to cast a thoughtful glance at his mug of cooling liquid. Resolutely he turned away; the hot tea he favored always brought him comfort, a sense of peace – and right now he wanted neither. His thoughts swirled against him, questioning: some mocking, some giving voice to the silent fears he had always harbored as a teacher and guide.

It was an awesome responsibility, to train their young ones, and Qui-Gon had lived through every day of his tutelage of two Padawans – both now Knights, one with a Padawan of his own – with pride, exasperation, joy … and fear. Such fear, that one of his precious ones would be snatched from his floundering, helpless grip by the relentless tentacles of the malevolent side of the Force, the counterbalance to all that was light and good and rejoiced in beauty.

He'd experienced such fear, such a struggle, with his last Padawan to help ground him in the Light, that when the boy had at last mastered the dark despair and doubt that left him blindingly susceptible to the Dark, Qui-Gon had breathed a sigh of relief and sworn to himself never to take another apprentice. It was unbearable, and only by his oath never to train another Padawan could he quiet the terror that pounded in his heart, that teased him mercilessly with the thought of losing an apprentice to the Dark.

Now, the fear that he had quelled was reawakened as he recalled the mandate the Council had given him mere hours ago.

The rain continued to slap at the window, leaving rivulets of water cascading down the sloped glass. He watched, lifting a thickly callused finger to slowly trace one of the trails.

A new Padawan.

He was being assigned a new Padawan.

Qui-Gon allowed a sigh, though it was really more an escape of his heart's sorrow slipping past his lips, lost in a rumble of thunder and swallowed up by the oppressive silence in his apartment. He turned away from the window then, suddenly consumed by a furious energy born of frustration, and began moving around the common room quickly, just to move, putting away his scattered, well-worn books; pacing; moving his teacup here to there and back.

He couldn't move fast enough to keep his thoughts from spilling into his mind's eye.

The Council, in their remarkable – translate: incomprehensible, he appended wryly, and found he was pleased to have retained at least his humor, dry though it was – wisdom, had collectively deemed it appropriate to consign to him a third apprentice. It had been too long, they said. He was getting more and more used to being on his own; he needed someone who was dependent on him, someone he could pass on his experience through the Force to. Qui-Gon snorted in disdain. He didn't _**want**_ anyone to be dependent on him.

He didn't realize that, in a short time, he would become equally as dependent.

"I don't need another apprentice," he murmured, eyes closed, hand hovering over a datapad he had been about to pick up. "I'm too old for this."

He thought, in the back of his mind, that he heard Yoda laugh.

"I don't need another Padawan," he repeated insistently, wondering why he trying to convince the air in his apartment. "I don't."

But according to the Council under whose auspices he currently labored and chafed, he did, and also according to Master Yoda, who had personally decided the Padawan should be relegated to Jinn's care and consequently swayed, manipulated, and/or bullied the rest of the Council into agreeing with him. Did they not know of his oath? How could they subject him again to the fear awakened by his previous apprentice that had superseded his pride and reduced him to groveling in the ashes of his arrogant belief that he could produce beautifully trained and fully capable apprentices … did they seek to bring him more pain? Did it concern them at all that he had nearly lost his last apprentice to the Dark – how could they trust him to train another?

How could they trust him, when he couldn't trust himself?

And how, he snapped out the thought icily, how could they see it acceptable to go completely over his head and simply drop the Padawan into his care – and not just any Padawan, but a rejected Jedi apprentice who was nearly old enough to take the Trials himself?

The thought made him angry, angry because the Council had disregarded his wishes and more incensed still because he **wanted** to feel the anger pulsing through him, **wanted** to be furious with the Council for giving him this responsibility and **wanted** to be angry with the boy, this unwelcome intrusion into his life. This unwelcome Jedi reject who had been cast off by his previous master and now dumped into Qui-Gon's unwilling keeping as if the Jedi Master could somehow salvage from the charred wreckage something the Council might deem worthy.

The flames of Qui-Gon's swiftly building ire fanned and grew, rising to meet the fury of the storm that still raged outside. He wanted to feel it. He wanted Master Yoda to know exactly how he felt, and the Council, too, if they cared to – though he doubted it. What was the Council thinking? Or were they just going along with Master Yoda? What had the little troll gotten into his head that he had decided he was superior over any of the other Council members and had the right to directly demand he accept this apprentice, this Obi-Wan Kenobi?

A warning nudge from the Living Force that he loved so, and Qui-Gon immediately drew a deep breath and released it slowly, letting his mounting fury bleed away as he exhaled. Breathed in again, out again carefully. As suddenly as the Jedi Master's rage had built, it slid away.

Great. Now he was having anger management issues; his temper was getting the better of him. He might as well just stamp "unworthy" on both his **and** Kenobi's foreheads right now.

Qui-Gon smiled just slightly, glad again for that tiny vein of humor he could fall back on. He murmured a quick word of both apology and thanks to the Light – and Yoda, if somehow his old Master been privy to Qui-Gon's tirade - though his troubled agitation remained. He increased the speed of his pacing across the well-worn grey carpet, trying to frustrate off his agitation. His … guest should arrive shortly.

He worked at cleaning the common room until he was tossing items absently to the carpet so he could retrieve them again, then sighed tiredly and abandoned his staccato efforts to flop wearily into his old chair where he picked distractedly at a loose thread on the battered arm. Tonight he felt more and more his half-century age than normal.

Half of a century. Force. It might be a mere season to Yoda, but Qui-Gon just felt old.

He should have protested when the Council had informed him that he was about to be granted the teaching rights to Kenobi, a Jedi apprentice nearly half his age and quite likely already comfortably arrogant and set in his ways – and probably no more pleased with their new arrangements than Qui-Gon himself.

The thread unraveled in Qui-Gon's large fingers and he stared at it absentmindedly for a minute before letting it fall to the carpet. He leant his head against the low backrest of the chair and directed his gaze to the ceiling, ice blue eyes tracing the intricate embossed patterns as he listened to the rain outside. The occasional rumbles of thunder were quieting, and the downpour had slowed to what would have passed for a spring shower on Qui-Gon's homeworld.

His thoughts drifted to Kenobi. He'd never met the Padawan, had heard of him only in the most cursory of terms. It hadn't been deemed "necessary" that the Council relate to Qui-Gon the circumstances of Kenobi's rejection by his Master, but there were only so many grounds upon which a master could repudiate his padawan, all of them of the utmost seriousness.

It was, in Qui-Gon's unreserved opinion, an incredibly foolish action on the part of the so-called wisest of the Jedi to relegate Kenobi to Qui-Gon's care, and he'd damned well let Yoda know how he felt. He'd accepted only because he'd had to; there were possibly worse things, he supposed, than teaching rejected apprentices, and he knew the Council would have no qualms whatsoever about finding those worse things and subjecting him to them for disobeying their mandates. Master Yoda could be extraordinarily creative when it came to finding suitable punishments for the wayward.

And after all, it wasn't that he didn't want the boy –

"Yes, it is," he interrupted his own thoughts loudly. "That's absolutely it. I don't want him." He thought he felt a bit of a nudge from the Living Force, but he ignored it. He would have nudged back if he'd had the energy. "I don't want another apprentice."

Apparently, though, how he felt about it didn't matter. Suddenly restless again, Qui-Gon pushed himself out of the depths of his thickly upholstered chair. Instead of resuming his pacing, however, he crossed the few short steps to the hall and peered into the room that had belonged to his former Padawan, his lips tightening into a thin line as he surveyed his earlier handiwork. He had scrubbed the room spotless down to the last centimeter, and while the starkly white, bare-walled space wasn't exactly welcoming, at least it was neat and clean, and furnished with the basic necessities: bed, desk, modest-sized wardrobe. It would suffice for the boy, at any rate.

The tall Jedi Master frowned at the brusqueness of the thought. He wasn't normally so … callous … where others were concerned, and though the thought of becoming the boy's Master was a distinctly uncomfortable one, it didn't mean he shouldn't try to make him feel welcome – even if Qui-Gon did harbor suspicion toward the apprentice, and doubt of his own ability to train another apprentice.

Qui-Gon studied the uninviting room a minute longer before wandering back out into the common room: his own private space, filled to bursting with his books, plants, and papers, and now he would be forced to share the space that had become so intimately his own since the departure of his second Padawan. He felt his mouth tighten in annoyance. The Council were meddlers; there had to be someone else who would take the boy. He was happy, content, and had no need of an apprentice. If the boy needed a master so badly, one of the Council could take him on themselves. Mace, perhaps, or even Master Yoda was without a Padawan at present. Someone else. Not him. Not him, damn it.

The thought held out until the announcer chimed, heralding the arrival of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon glanced at the chrono. Right on the hour. The boy was prompt, if nothing else. As a hasty, half-decided afterthought, he snatched up one of his beloved flowers, an Alderaanian lily, and hurriedly deposited the pot on the empty desk in what would be the Padawan's room. Then he schooled his features into an absolute calm, straightened his tunics, brushed all thoughts of discontent and frustration from his mind, and prepared to meet Kenobi.


	2. II

**Thank you!** to TheMacUnleashed, M, Pharoahess, Tashilover, charie, nayru, Padawan Jess Kenobi, peanutmeg, ObiBettina7, and mysong. Out of over 200 readers, you took a minute to leave a review for this fic and keep an easily discouraged author's spirits up. I know you're reviewing the Rewrite, too, and it means so much to me that you're kind enough to do so. I appreciate your time!

Still hoping this isn't too difficult to read … the words just keep spilling out …

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Two

Qui-Gon Jinn's first thought, when the door slid open and revealed the Padawan-learner that the Council had assigned to him, was that he would have to revise his initial conjecture: this was no boy that stood patiently on his doorstop; rather, Obi-Wan Kenobi turned out to be instead a slightly shorter but powerfully built, compact young man who stared back at him with expressionless blue-grey eyes. Kenobi's demeanor proffered silent submission rather than the stony defiance Qui-Gon had expected from a young Jedi who should have been sent on to take the Trials for Knighthood and had instead been kept back for additional training.

Qui-Gon was unsurprised to find that he was disappointed Kenobi apparently lacked the latter – he preferred his apprentices to possess the same inner fire, the same ability to question authority that he did. It was much easier to get one's goals accomplished when their Padawan had a shared desire to pursue justice and right wrongs despite the personal risk to reputation and chances for being on the Council someday.

But Qui-Gon was getting ahead of himself. He was judging the young man before him on a presupposition. He would have to be more careful; the Jedi Master was already irritated by the Council's demand he train Kenobi, and casting the Padawan unfavorably without giving him a chance to make his own mistakes would only bring the inevitable disastrous end Qui-Gon was expecting to fulfillment sooner.

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn?" Kenobi greeted him quietly, a hint questioningly, his perfectly cultured voice allowing just mere hints of an exotic accent to escape and color his words. Qui-Gon nodded shortly, wordlessly stepping to the side to allow the young man entrance into his domicile.

Kenobi entered hesitantly, glancing once at Qui-Gon before moving further into Qui-Gon's quarters and stopping precisely at the center of the common room. His inquiring gaze settled on the Jedi Master, but Qui-Gon said nothing, studying his new charge as if he were an invading beetle set to chew the delicate leaves off of one of his favorite plants.

Kenobi's close-cropped, neatly spiked ginger hair was gathered into a small ponytail, and his long Padawan braid was nestled neatly behind his right ear. His high forehead was marred by a tiny furrow resting in his brow as a testimony to his discomfort while impassive blue-grey eyes quietly waited out Qui-Gon's blatant examination. Strong cheekbones leading to pale, hollow cheeks bordered firm, thin lips set into a tense line, and a prominently cleft chin; it wasn't a bad-looking face – while not "handsome" in a conventional sense, Qui-Gon was warily certain that young Kenobi possessed his share of admirers, and likely then some.

Continuing his assessment, he noted Kenobi's broad shoulders, tapering into a well-toned torso, narrow waist and hips; Kenobi's slender, well-muscled thighs and calves attested to as much time spent in the training halls as anywhere else.

In all, it wasn't an absolutely bad picture, but Qui-Gon tried to visualize himself and Kenobi fighting back-to-back and had to squelch the wry thought that he would most likely get shot in the back of the head due to Kenobi's … unimposing physical stature. It would be only slightly better than being covered by Master Yoda.

For his part, Obi-Wan was ignoring the scrutiny, obliquely examining Qui-Gon's living space, saying nothing, but his brow wrinkled a little deeper as the silence continued to stretch between them. Qui-Gon wondered if Kenobi disapproved of the Jedi Master's comfortably lived-in clutter, but he didn't much care either way if the young man did.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, I presume," he finally said, rather blandly, and Kenobi immediately bowed deeply, pulling his long robe tightly against his slim body as he did so.

"Master Jinn," he murmured as an affirmative, nodding shortly, long lashes resting briefly against his pale skin as his eyes closed respectfully for the briefest second.

Qui-Gon brushed off the formality, unused to being treated so ceremoniously, and immediately launched into a quick tour.

"Common room and study, and kitchen," he indicated each area with a quick wave of his hand, even though he was stating the obvious. "This room will be yours," he announced, gesturing toward the recently vacated, newly scrubbed room just visible in the hall. "The adjacent door is to the fresher, and my room is at the opposite end of the hall."

He glanced at the small twin duffel bags Kenobi carried over each shoulder. "You can leave those in your room," he instructed, "and we'll arrange to have the rest of your things brought in."

"This is all I have, Master Jinn," Kenobi interposed politely, self-consciously shifting his bags under Qui-Gon's sudden surprised glance. The Padawan's eyes darted to the floor and back up and it appeared to Qui-Gon that he actually burrowed himself deeper into the folds of his robe, looking much younger than the twenty-three years Qui-Gon knew him to be.

"I see," was all the Jedi Master could think of to say, but in retrospect he supposed that a rejected Jedi Padawan probably wouldn't want to keep much that would remind him of his … previous apprenticeship.

In fact, it was probably a wonder that Kenobi wasn't carrying **less**.

"Then it won't take you long to settle in," Qui-Gon proffered with a cynical half-smile at the young man, and Kenobi's bold response to his statement utterly floored him:

"Nor will it take me long to pack up again, will it, Master Jinn?" Kenobi asked levelly, still standing in the same spot as he had when he'd first entered the room.

There wasn't any nobility in pretending he didn't know what Kenobi was referring to.

"No, I don't suppose it will," Qui-Gon responded, squelching his irritation and trying to keep his voice neutral. "But let's worry about that bridge if we come to it, shall we?"

Kenobi's answering smile was humorless. "I think 'when' may be more appropriate than 'if,' Master Jinn."

Again, Qui-Gon cursed the Council and their so-called wisdom; if he'd wanted another apprentice, he would have asked for one! It appeared Kenobi had also reached Qui-Gon's earlier conclusion: this forced partnership was doomed to a very short existence. There was no reason to drag their doubts into the open so soon, however.

"Padawan Kenobi," he began, sounding, he thought, very reasonable and very calm, "at such an early stage, I think it unwise to pursue this line of speculation and instead follow through on what the Council has ordered us to do." Immediately Qui-Gon regretted his use of the word 'ordered,' and the noticeable shuttering of Kenobi's eyes showed that Qui-Gon's error had not slid by unobserved. He would have retracted his sentence, but there was no truthful way around it.

Kenobi held his gaze for what felt like an eternity before dropping his blank eyes to the carpeted floor. "Understood, Master Jinn," he murmured, with a slight drop of his chin toward his chest. Without looking back at Qui-Gon, he slowly left his little circle of safety and made his way stiffly to the room Qui-Gon had earlier indicated. There was a quiet hiss as the door closed behind him, and the Jedi Master allowed his eyes to drift closed tiredly as he exhaled forcefully, wishing he could expel the tension in shoulders with such a simple action. He felt like he aged by decades since Kenobi had first stepped through the door, though in reality it had been less than ten Standard minutes.

"That could have gone much better," he mumbled to the empty room. "_**Much**_ better."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Either Kenobi had impeccable timing, or he somehow knew exactly how long was just long enough to be absent and when precisely to reappear. Kenobi joined Qui-Gon in the kitchen as the older Jedi was rummaging through the cooling unit, grumbling irritably as he surveyed its contents with growing dissatisfaction. Qui-Gon had decided to let the earlier discomfort between them pass without his mentioning it again, and instead focus on doing exactly what he'd told Kenobi – following the Council's orders. He studied the young Jedi swiftly; sans robe, Qui-Gon realized that Kenobi was slightly smaller than his original appraisal, and was positively short beside the towering Jedi Master.

_I am going to take it in the back of the head one of these days,_ he thought with a sigh, _unless Kenobi's damned good with a lightsaber_. Qui-Gon made a mental note to put Kenobi's weapons training near the top of his assessment list – definitely before they were sent into the field anywhere. If they managed to make it that far in this …. arrangement.

Qui-Gon's stomach rumbled and he realized that he was getting chilled standing in front of the open cooling unit. Kenobi was watching him, eyebrow embedded in its seemingly permanently cocked position, asking without speaking just what Qui-Gon thought he was doing. Qui-Gon pushed the door shut with a sigh, abandoning the hope of finding anything immediately edible – or at least easily prepared, and he didn't really feel up to cooking tonight.

"I was thinking, Padawan Kenobi," he announced, hopefully enthusiastically but knowing he failed miserably, "that we would eat out tonight – unless you know how to cook?" When he lifted his head he saw Kenobi regarding him with an amused little smile, but the Padawan offered no verbal reply, which Qui-Gon took to mean that Kenobi couldn't really cook, either. "Well, get your robe," he pushed on cheerily, determined to make the best of a bad situation, "and we'll go. You are hungry, I take it?" he thought to ask, but could hardly imagine Kenobi's answer would be a negative.

Kenobi's grin actually widened at Qui-Gon's query, making his thin face all the more pleasant and a small spark crept into his empty eyes.

"Master Jinn," he pronounced, sounding amused and thankfully not offended by Qui-Gon's patronizing – or at least ignoring it. "I'm nearly always hungry, and apt at any time to eat whatever is put in front of me."

Qui-Gon felt an answering smile threaten at the corners of his mouth, pleased to see a little life imbued in the rigid young Jedi. "That is a good thing, Padawan Kenobi, an excellent quality to have," he said seriously.

"It's an especially good quality to have when you're accustomed to traveling," Kenobi agreed easily. "At least, it keeps your Master happy, which is, as you know, critically – " Kenobi choked off, a sudden look of dismay washing over his face before he immediately forced his features back into the utter blandness he'd worn since his arrival. Qui-Gon watched in confusion, concerned by the Padawan's reaction to such a simple statement.

"Critically important," Kenobi finished weakly, with the attitude of someone who had said too much and knew it. He offered Qui-Gon a sick smile, but his mouth gaped just slightly, as if he felt he should say something to cover his mistake but hadn't any idea what.

The Jedi Master stared silently, wondering what the hell was going on and what Kenobi had said that had unnerved him so. After a few moments of awkward silence, Kenobi mumbled something unintelligible and retreated back to his room. Qui-Gon watched him go, a frown pulling at his full mouth. He'd left Kenobi's words hanging in midair, but Qui-Gon knew he could have offered the young man a kindness by doing something other than staring.

This was not going well at all.


	3. III

Yes, I did fall off the face of the earth. It was a weird feeling.

Syntyche's Very Long Author's Notes:

1. I actually don't think that any of this fic will be from Obi-Wan's POV. Everything that I had written to date is from Qui-Gon's POV, and I recently read Tashilover's excellent "Not A Father" (please consider reading and reviewing if you haven't yet – it's over in the Jedi Apprentice section), which was also entirely from Qui-Gon's POV and I really liked the way the story flowed so effortlessly; so, based on Tashilover's superb example, I may stick with Qui-Gon's POV. I also like the way it keeps things more of a mystery. *insert ominous music sure to signal more Obi-Wan angst on the way*

2. I've gotten a few comments on my initial description of Obi-Wan's legs and stature… see, I thought I was being **too** wordy, but maybe I'm not being wordy enough. :) I pictured Obi-Wan standing with his robe hanging loosely enough that Qui-Gon could get a decent impression of his build, but it may just be that I take extra care when watching Star Wars to peer a little more closely than one ought in my absolute adoration of Obi-Wan Kenobi … also, Ewan McGregor is a little short while Liam Neeson is a little tall, and I just imagined Qui-Gon would find their pairing a little worrisome if he was previously uncertain of Obi-Wan's fighting skills.

Okay! Where were we…? Oh, right, right. Qui-Gon was angsting over dinner, Obi-Wan was just angsting, period, and the Council was meddling, as usual. Right, well, onward…

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Three

Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't utter another syllable until after Qui-Gon had procured a table for them at his favorite little café and the Jedi Master had practically forced a menu into the silent Padawan's hands. Qui-Gon hadn't pressed Kenobi into speaking, actually preferring the whisper of his own thoughts to any further awkward attempts at conversing with the reticent Padawan. They had strolled through the ceaselessly busy streets, each lost in his own private musings; each grimly anticipating the upcoming difficulties they had foreseen as a result of their forced partnership; each wondering how this doomed experiment could possibly succeed, or least avoid failing in a most grandly spectacular manner.

In another life, Qui-Gon had reflected as they'd walked mutely, they could have perhaps been an effective team, balancing out each other's weaknesses and complementing the other's strengths; laughing, bantering, basking in the friendly and easy warmth of a comfortable apprenticeship that had outgrown its initial limitations and stretched into a tried and tested friendship. **That** was how an apprenticeship was supposed to work. **That** was how Qui-Gon had survived the turmoil, the hair-pulling stress, and the absolute joys of training to Knighthood his previous Padawans – chosen by him when they were just younglings. And **that** was what Qui-Gon would have wanted to share with his next Padawan, had he not so long ago sworn to not take on another apprentice.

But Master Yoda had had other ideas, and now Qui-Gon was expected to train Obi-Wan Kenobi, already a young man, on to the completion of his apprenticeship. With so much disconnected history and so many unanswered questions widening the already almost hopelessly insurmountable chasm between them, however, the Council's mandate for them to work together seemed to the Jedi Master both inappropriate and foolish. It would have been much more humane to simply transfer Kenobi to the AgriCorps and allow him to become a respectable farmer, where his efforts would feed not only the Jedi but also contribute to the Temple's outreach to needy communities on Coruscant and beyond. It was something to consider, and maybe broach the subject with Kenobi if Qui-Gon found his training to be as lacking as the Jedi Master suspected it must be.

Pulling away from his rumination, Qui-Gon listened as Kenobi softly but clearly murmured his order to the robo-server before lapsing into now-familiar silence again, his firm mouth twisted in barely-concealed anxiety that rolled off of the Padawan in thick waves regardless of his effort to control it. Qui-Gon gave his own order, and then resolutely turned to the business of studying his rather large but, he thought, well-formed hands. He had been steadily releasing his own continued agitation and frustrations with the Council into the soothing comfort of the Force, but it appeared that, whatever the circumstances behind Kenobi's dismissal by his former Master, the young man remained even unhappier about their current arrangement than Qui-Gon had been.

It was that realization by Qui-Gon that demanded the Jedi Master's natural, innate compassion win out for now, the kindness and empathy the Living Force had woven so completely into the threads of his being settling like a warm mantle over his broad shoulders and urging him to look at Kenobi in a different light. Whether or not he could successfully help Kenobi reach – and pass – his Trials for Knighthood remained to be seen, but at least he could offer the young man whatever small measure of courtesy the older man possessed. He would have done no less for any other living man or creature he encountered, and the warmth of the Living Force was gently telling him he needed to extend the same kindness now to a young Padawan who seemed desperately to need it.

Kenobi sat soundlessly in his chair, noticeably uncomfortable, but as Qui-Gon didn't have a clue as to how to remedy the young man's distress, he simply left it alone by electing not to mention it, hoping that was indeed the most kindhearted choice – though he did wonder what it was about Kenobi's earlier ostensibly innocent statement that the apprentice was so visibly upset over. There had been a certain irony in Kenobi's tone, but not enough to qualify as being disrespectful:

_"… at least, it keeps your Master happy, which is, as you know, critically – critically important…" _

Kenobi had stumbled over the words, appearing mortified as they left his mouth, but there was nothing in the harmless declaration that the Jedi Master could perceive to indicate the reason for the high levels of unease now clinging relentlessly to Kenobi.

Qui-Gon frowned as he considered. _Although, Qui-Gon, you ass, _he reprimanded himself firmly, _it could be the fact that he's been rejected by his former master, and any mention of him – or her – is bound to be a painful subject._ Yes. It could be that small fact.

"Master Jinn."

_He speaks!_ Qui-Gon thought, startled and almost amused, but he kept the smile from his expression and tone. Though there was precious little in this situation to smile about, there was still too much tension between he and Kenobi to allow any sign of amusement at the sensitive Padawan's expense.

"Padawan Kenobi," he acknowledged solemnly, gazing over his folded hands at the still, withdrawn apprentice.

Steel grey eyes fixed on him, resolute but strangely tired. Kenobi drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders lifting beneath his russet robe.

"Master Jinn," he tried again, his dulcet voice smooth, cultured, elegant, remorseful. "I do want to offer apologies for this …position …in which you've been placed. I understand from my own experience as an apprentice that the burden of training one is no small feat in itself for a Master, but especially so if the Padawan has already had …some …some instruction," he stumbled oh-so-slightly here, but forged ahead, and Qui-Gon's heart ached a little at the barefaced pain beneath the obviously carefully rehearsed speech, "and should be of age to take the Trials." His blue-grey eyes bored into the Jedi Master, conviction warring with shame in their empty depths.

_And why haven't you taken the Trials, Obi-Wan Kenobi? _Qui-Gon wanted to ask, the query burning the tip of his tongue, begging to be released into the air between them. _You are quite old enough … why has the Council gone to all the trouble to secure a new Master for you? What haven't you learned yet that would enable you to simply be Knighted instead of held back? Or what have you done to keep you from moving on?_

The unpleasant questions festered in Qui-Gon's brain, taunting him, though he had a feeling that Kenobi wouldn't take very well to being asked the reason for his delay in promotion. And how to answer Kenobi's statement diplomatically?

"I won't deceive you, Padawan Kenobi," he finally settled on carefully. "It is a very difficult situation for a Master to be in. I know very little about you, and nothing about your previous training or abilities, and yet I'm expected to train you to Knighthood." Qui-Gon leaned back, shifting into a more comfortable position on the cushioned chair. "It won't be easy, young one," he added, "and I can't pretend that I'm entirely pleased with how the Council has handled this."

Kenobi's eyes dropped to the highly polished tabletop, and Qui-Gon had to resist the urge to hook a finger under Kenobi's chin and tilt his downcast face back upward, reminding himself sternly he had chosen the route of compassion.

"However," he continued mildly, "it may turn out to be a most advantageous arrangement. We shall see. However it goes, young Padawan, it will be the will of the Force," he finished, hoping he sounded gentle. Kenobi looked like a lost, disheartened pup, the type that Qui-Gon always managed to find for sale at the outdoor market and somehow purchase and smuggle carefully back into the Temple for the crèche children to play with.

"The will of the Force," Kenobi echoed softly, and the bitter despair in his soft voice left an inexplicably acrid taste in Qui-Gon's mouth.

The robo-server delivered their food, saving Qui-Gon from commenting, but he didn't let go of Kenobi's words and he watched as, despite his earlier proclamation of hunger, the young man quietly picked at his food, eyes scarcely leaving the table. Qui-Gon, too, poked at the meal before him, an unfamiliar sense of apprehension winding through his gut. _Damn the Council's meddling_, he thought, not for the first time. He didn't like feeling so in the dark with regards to Kenobi, but how he should go about securing Kenobi's background information puzzled him. Qui-Gon decided the wisest course of action would be to speak with Yoda at first light; if anyone could shed more light on the situation, it would be one of Qui-Gon's former masters. Yoda _**had**_ to have a reason not only for choosing him, but also for holding Kenobi back.

Also, Qui-Gon mused, poking at his sandwich, how were they supposed to make up training time lost? That question troubled the Jedi Master almost as much as Kenobi's shadowed reasons for being rejected by his master. How far behind was Kenobi?

"I understand your concern," Kenobi's even voice broke smoothly into his thoughts as the young man effectively read Qui-Gon's mind. "Most apprenticeships start much sooner than ours, and you are quite in demand, I am told. I shall do my best to keep up with you."

Qui-Gon smiled slightly despite being startled by Kenobi's perceptiveness. "It is true, Padawan; however, we'll just have make up for lost time as quickly as we can. We shall start tomorrow morning by going over what you've been taught so far."

Kenobi's smooth brow dipped into a wrinkle of concern. "I apologize, Master Qui-Gon, but I've been asked to see Master Yoda at the first light of the morning." His tired eyes showed his confusion. "You were not informed?"

Qui-Gon swallowed past the irritation that struggled to the fore, instead trying to project calm as he carefully brushed his annoyance off to the Force. "It may be that the message is still waiting on the comm," he suggested evenly, though the barest breath of a sigh slid through his lips. "I shall check when we get in."

Kenobi nodded slowly. "Of course." He paused, his blue-grey gaze glittering in the bright lights of the café. "I am sure you are correct, and that the message will also tell you that I am to meet with members of the Council every morning for additional training." There was an undercurrent of bitterness beneath the Padawan's quiet words, but it was the words themselves that snared Qui-Gon's attention.

"Every morning?" he repeated incredulously, and, sensing the Jedi Master's astonishment, Kenobi's face immediately shuttered and darkened, a ruby stain of shame spreading across his tight features and he involuntarily tensed, shoulders stiffening under the russet folds of his robe.

"Yes, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to slam his fist onto the tabletop, the frustration he'd tried to get past returning to taunt him. Why would the Council assign him a new Padawan if they intended to take care of his training themselves? It made no sense! Possibilities sketched rapidly through Qui-Gon's mind, trying to create a complete picture. It made no sense … unless …

A germ of an idea appeared, growing in Qui-Gon's mind, twisting his gut sickly.

Unless Kenobi had flirted with the Dark, and that had been too much for his previous Master to handle and so the Master had rejected him, given him over to the Council for training. Yoda and the other members of the Council knew that Qui-Gon's last apprentice had fought the same battle and, with Qui-Gon's painstaking help, conquered the Dark. So perhaps the Council thought that Qui-Gon would be able to help Kenobi as well. But it must have been more than a mere flirtation with the Dark if the Council were also taking a personal hand in overseeing Kenobi's remaining apprenticeship.

Qui-Gon tried to reign his suspicions in, knowing he didn't have the facts to back up the speculation that had lodged in his brain, but there were, in reality, few other things that would explain Kenobi's current situation.

Qui-Gon sighed, wishing his favored former Master were on-planet or even in comm range. Dooku's wider view of the Force was the kind of counsel that Qui-Gon needed now more than trying to blindly follow Yoda's orders through this doubtlessly temporary apprenticeship.

He realized that Kenobi was watching him quietly, a small, amused smile that didn't reach his eyes pasted onto his pale face, and he wondered if young man had indeed managed to read his mind a second time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was indeed a message waiting for Qui-Gon when they returned, informing the Jedi Master that young Kenobi's presence was required in the Council chambers every morning for training. Kenobi waited solemnly as Qui-Gon switched off the comm with an irritated wave, and they stood together for a moment, sharing a sigh. Qui-Gon offered Kenobi a small smile at their mutual frustration and was surprised to see an answering grin grace Kenobi's pale features. Qui-Gon felt his smile widen just a little and he settled comfortably in his favorite chair, his mind already working on what he would need to test Kenobi on once the Council was finished with him on the morrow. It was almost strange to the Jedi Master, but that moment of shared humor and annoyance had very quietly and very tenuously created a link between he and the Padawan; fragile at best, but a connection nonetheless.

He watched with interest as Kenobi prowled the perimeter of the room like a caged kitling, examining the wall Qui-Gon had lined entirely with bookshelves. Occasionally Kenobi would reach out a long, slim finger to pluck a volume from one of the shelves and study it silently for a few minutes before returning it carefully to its place and continuing his perusal of its companions. Much of their first evening together was passed in this manner, with Kenobi eyeing the shelves and Qui-Gon eyeing Kenobi.

Finally, the Jedi Master breached the not-uncomfortable silence between them. "I think tomorrow we'll head for the training halls, Padawan Kenobi, and you can show me how far you've progressed in studies."

Kenobi froze in the act of replacing a volume on the history of the first set of Mandalorian wars. "W-with a lightsaber?" he questioned warily, tripping slightly in his speech. Qui-Gon hadn't noticed the stutter earlier, but then, Kenobi hadn't exactly talked his ear off all night, either.

"Yes, of course," he returned amiably. "Unless you'd rather go over your educational accumulation – which classes you've taken, where your mental strengths are – and of course, I'll need to gauge your ability to use the Living and Unifying sides of the Force." He didn't even mention forming a training bond - **that** was an area he would leave entirely to the Council. He was certain he could train Kenobi without the use of a training bond. After all, it would be useless to attempt to develop one in such a temporary situation as this, and the minute connection that had formed earlier was nowhere near the strength of an actual bond, so he needn't worry about that.

Kenobi stood silent and Qui-Gon knew he'd caught the omission, but he simply waited for Qui-Gon to finish. "Is that acceptable, Padawan Kenobi?"

"Yes, perfectly," but his voice was still softer than it should have been. Force, but this was hard, and it was more difficult still to be groping in the dark.

Kenobi waited another minute before, sounding amused, he ventured a question. "Why do you keep all these books?"

"I beg your pardon?" Qui-Gon was surprised by the query.

Kenobi waved the thick volume clutched between his fingers. "These books. They're … " He paused, searching for the right word, "unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?" Qui-Gon had to admit, he'd never thought of them as 'unnecessary' before.

"Yes," Kenobi nodded absently. "these books. These plants, even. They're completely superfluous to your work … why do you make time for them?"

It wasn't a question Qui-Gon had ever considered. "Because I enjoy them," he finally settled on. "Aren't there things that you enjoy simply because you do?"

Kenobi gave him an humoring smile but didn't comment, which bothered the Jedi Master in a way he couldn't pinpoint. "Padawan Kenobi," he asked cautiously, "what do you know of the Living Force?"

Kenobi's hooded grey eyes were somehow guileless as he answered – a feat Qui-Gon wouldn't have thought possible. "Only that it can get you into a lot of trouble, Master Jinn."

Kenobi's unapologetically short answer bothered Qui-Gon greatly. To say that he was floored was an understatement – he was floored, aghast, outraged, and indignant. To hear his beloved Living Force demeaned so casually by this … rejected Padawan … was an affront to even his kindhearted nature.

"You will not speak that way of any aspect of the Force again, young Padawan," he ground out severely, sternly pleased by the flare of regretful embarrassment that flashed across Kenobi's wan face, darkening his eyes with self-recrimination. The young man gathered the long folds of his robe tight against his slender body, bowing low, radiating apology.

"Of course, Master Jinn," he murmured. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

A small part of Qui-Gon mourned the loss of the brief flicker of life the young man had finally displayed, but order and respect had to be maintained if this apprenticeship was to have even its slim chance of flourishing. "See that it doesn't, Padawan."

Kenobi nodded shortly, returning solemnly to his perusal of Qui-Gon's library, and Qui-Gon sighed deeply, feeling exhausted by the day's events, however minor they had seemed. The Jedi Master rose. Tomorrow would be better. He hoped.

"I'm going to bed, then, young Padawan. If you need anything, please ask; otherwise, make yourself … comfortable," he amended, wondering why he felt so hesitant to invite the Padawan to feel at home in what were technically his new quarters.

_Because he doesn't belong here_, a little voice reminded him.

The question was, rejected by his former master after what must have been over ten years of training … did Kenobi belong anywhere?

That was indeed the question. Unfortunately, the answer was one he knew, and knew by the disconsolate look in Kenobi's eyes that he was more than aware of it, too.


	4. IV

I shall now take a moment to hug and say thank you to each and every reader who took a moment to review this story. You keep this fic going, and that's not a cliché or a review-hostage situation (as in, 'I refuse to post any chapters until I get X number of reviews.' No, I just have lack-of-review-related meltdowns and assume everyone thinks the story sucks and I may as well not post any new chapters. It's waaaaaay different than holding chaps hostage. Ummm… at least, using the "different point-of-view" defense. lol.)

I'm on my way to finishing the Rewrite … it's a shame Obi-Wan's not out of the proverbial woods there yet, either; poor guy's getting his shapely ass kicked between these two fics and also 'loyalty' (to be finished … someday) … but this fic hijacked my brain and is demanding to be finished in a relatively timely fashion. We'll see if my natural knack for procrastination wins out.

Finally, I'm writing under the assumption that until a Padawan is assigned a specific master of their own, they receive instruction from several masters, so Qui-Gon references a few 'former masters' of his own here and there. Hopefully not too confusing.

Also, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. My choices were "post it" or "delete it" and I'm hoping I made the right choice.

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Four

The early morning dawn was just beginning to streak crisp edges along the hem of cobalt darkness shrouding the night sky when Qui-Gon awoke from blissfully refreshing slumber. Lately, it was only there, cloaked in the warm solitude of sleep that he could evade however briefly the frustrating mystery of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the young Padawan's fall from grace as evinced by his rejection by his former Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon rose, shedding the light duvet, and stumbled blearily to the kitchen, passing his young charge's closed door with the smallest of frowns. He didn't like working blindly, yet that was exactly what the Council had asked him to do with Kenobi. A repair job without knowing what was damaged.

_Tea_, he thought desperately, would help him collect his thoughts. He had long ago accepted with his usual grace that he would never in actuality be a "morning person," and the Jedi Master had made an amused peace with that established fact. _I need hot tea_.

Squinting his way around as he did every morning, Qui-Gon somehow managed to get the tea kettle going on the stovetop, thinking all the while how nice it had been when he'd had a Padawan underfoot to start this morning ritual for him. It was an unofficial yet time-honored tradition for Padawans that apparently Kenobi's master had never explained to him.

A soft whisper of fabric breezed past his ears as the afore-mentioned Padawan glided into the cooking area and Qui-Gon covered a frown by busying himself readying his tea mug: Kenobi looked like hell. There was no polite way around it and Qui-Gon wondered how much sleep he'd gotten, if any, the previous night.

"Padawan Kenobi," he greeted, striving to infer some sympathetic gentleness into his voice, "Did you sleep all right?"

Kenobi's reply was polite but short, offered with a humble nod of his head and a low murmur. "Fine, Master Jinn, thank you for asking."

Qui-Gon returned the nod. "Can I get you anything? Something hot to drink, perhaps?"

"Ah … do you have any kaffe?" Kenobi asked hesitantly. Qui-Gon shook his head, his crooked nose crinkling as he remembered well the acrid taste of the bitter drink Kenobi had requested: one of the Jedi's former masters had strictly refused the start the day until Qui-Gon had brewed him a pot of the thickly foul beverage. One of the advantages of having the benefit of Yoda's added training was young Qui-Gon's introduction to the blessedly calming relief of freshly brewed tea.

"No, I'm sorry," he heard himself say, rattling himself from his musings. "I'm a tea drinker. Would you care for some? It's not as strong as kaffe, perhaps, but I think you'll find it soothing after a trying night," he offered with a gentle smile.

A flash of an answering smile graced Kenobi's expression, making him look boyishly younger than his twenty-three years. "Uh, yes, that would be fine," Kenobi ventured to add, "I, uh, that is, I have a kaffe mug, Master Jinn." The barest flash of a pensive frown and it was gone as quickly as the grin it had replaced. "It's one of the few things I own. I'll get it."

He ducked out of the cooking area but returned promptly carrying a dark blue mug which he surrendered to Qui-Gon's outstretched hand. Qui-Gon turned the well-used, chipped mug over in his large hands thoughtfully. Either Kenobi was a horribly violent dishwasher, or he and his former Master had traveled frequently. The latter rationalization, the Jedi Master decided, would also explain the Padawan's meager belongings and his earlier inquisitiveness about Qui-Gon's "superfluous" library and belongings.

"How long have you been at the Temple, Padawan Kenobi?" Qui-Gon asked curiously, and was rewarded with a raised ginger eyebrow from Obi-Wan.

"Most of my young life, Master Jinn." The kettle whistled and Kenobi slid past Qui-Gon to gently remove it from the heat, carefully pouring the steaming water into Qui-Gon's waiting mug on the counter. "I never knew my parents."

"No … I mean, when were you last out in the field," Qui-Gon clarified. "When was your most recent assignment off-planet?"

Obi-Wan froze in the act of filling his kaffe mug, and only Qui-Gon's surprised tap on his broad, thin shoulder kept the Padawan from splashing the steaming liquid across the counter and his robe front. "My last … ?"

"Yes, Padawan." Qui-Gon compassionately rescued the kettle from Kenobi's iron grip on the handle, setting it aside and picking up his mug. The warm aroma of mint drifted pleasantly across his senses as he explained, "As one of the Council's primary negotiators, I am off-planet quite frequently and interact with many types of individuals. Before you and I undertake such an assignment, I need to know if this something you've been prepared for. How extensively have you been trained in interspecies relations and diplomacy?"

Kenobi's normally pleasant features twisted into an ugly, almost humiliated scowl that somehow both confused Qui-Gon and made his heart ache inexplicably.

"Ah, I see." The Padawan turned his back to Qui-Gon, busying himself with the nothing on the counter, his pained voice sending clipped bitterness over his shoulder. "I've been trained **very** extensively in interspecies relations and diplomacy, Master Jinn. What do you want, or what would you like to know?"

"Want?" Qui-Gon was surprised and perturbed by Kenobi's sudden change in demeanor – not unexpected, he'd seen it a few times already, but not yet with this level of emotion attached to it. "I don't want anything, Padawan. It's my job as your teacher to ask these things. I've been on-planet for awhile now and with you assigned as my apprentice I don't think the Council will delay long in giving us an assignment."

Kenobi exhaled in a sudden, embarrassed rush, his shoulders sagging as his rigid posture slumped. "Yes, of course, Master Jinn. I apologize."

"It's quite unnecessary, young one," Qui-Gon assured, handing the Padawan his tea, though he couldn't help but notice the slight way in which Kenobi's hand trembled as he accepted the mug.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"No! No, no, no!"

Heroically – he felt – resisting the urge to fling his hands into the air into a gesture of total surrender, Qui-Gon instead placed thick fingers twitching with unused energy onto Kenobi's shoulder, gripping the fabric of the young man's tunic tightly. It had been a week since Kenobi had been assigned to him, and six days of lightsaber training later, the Padawan's offensive and defensive maneuvers were still as shamefully poor as they had been the first time they had sparred. It may have been due to Kenobi's frequent absences from their apartment while he was scheduled to train with members of the Council, but it was frustrating to the Jedi Master to say the least. During the past week Qui-Gon had watched Kenobi carefully but futilely for signs of Light, or Dark – or any emotion, really, other than the empty-eyed stare and the bland demeanor that so often controlled the young man.

"Padawan Kenobi, you're not even paying attention," he chastised, willing the patience warring with frustration to bleed through into his voice. Still, the words came out on a sigh. "Your fighting style is antiquated, you're moving too slowly, and you're **not focused**. Remember your focus, young one, or you will be easily defeated."

"Yes, Master," Kenobi murmured automatically, looking no more ready to fight than he had any of the scores of previous times they had sparred. Qui-Gon frowned. They had to break this one-sided cycle of action or the only thing they would accomplish would be exhausting the Jedi Master and Kenobi would be no farther along than he had been before he'd been relegated to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon stepped back, ignoring the look of unwarranted shame from his criticism that tainted Kenobi's pale cheeks with a wash of crimson, "Let's try again. I'm not going to pull any punches this time, so be prepared," the command in his voice was unmistakable.

Hoping the firm warning would spur Kenobi into action – _**finally **_– Qui-Gon launched a fierce attack, attempting to snap Kenobi into battle-mode by forcing him to either respond automatically or be mowed down under the Jedi Master's unremitting assault.

Driving relentlessly forward, he pushed Kenobi back towards the far wall, easily deflecting Kenobi's weak parries and scoring light touches that singed Kenobi's white tunics.

"Come on, young one," he urged, unrelenting in his onslaught, "feel the Force, let it control your actions, let the Living Force sing in your mind!"

Another touch glanced off of Kenobi's shoulder, and a brief twinge of irritated pain flashed across the Padawan's blank face before it was smoothed back under control.

"Come on!" Qui-Gon demanded, willing a response from the younger man. "Now, Obi-Wan! Attack!"

The Padawan continued to back up under the assault as he had every time they performed this exercise, lightsaber wavering in his unsteady hands, halting only when his back slammed into the far wall; his grey eyes widened, and for the first time Qui-Gon saw fear flash through Kenobi's tired eyes.

_Stop,_ echoed in Qui-Gon's mind in a murmur so low he wasn't certain he hadn't imagined it in the crushing press of combat training. _please please stop!_

Qui-Gon shook his head sharply, his practice saber dancing off of Kenobi's unprotected thigh.

"_**Now, **_Obi-Wan!" he demanded, so close to Kenobi now that he could see the sheen of perspiration dampening the Padawan's hair and rolling in rivulets down his flushed face. "Attack or be defeated! Do what you must do!" Qui-Gon poured all the strength of his voice behind his words, all his frustration, demanding that Obi-Wan obey, that he **act**!

And Kenobi snapped.

It wasn't a gentle occurrence, as if Kenobi had finally decided he needed to keep up with his new Master and join the currently one-sided fight; as he watched cobalt stain Kenobi's grey eyes dark, Qui-Gon could have sworn that something inside the Padawan had literally snapped, some deeply fettered reserve had come crashing open. A wall had broken somewhere, and all the pent-up rage and frustration that Kenobi hid so carefully poured out. Kenobi moved, his blue-tinged saber a blur of energy as he surged forward, launching a torrential attack that left Qui-Gon staggering under the sheer immensity of it. Flipping, twisting, using incredibly advanced aerial maneuvers, Kenobi reversed the match and drove the stunned Jedi master away from the wall.

Qui-Gon might have been pleased if he weren't so concerned.

There was no Light in Kenobi's eyes, but there was no Dark, either, Qui-Gon noticed swiftly, bringing his blade up quickly to block a disarming strike intended for his sword arm. No emotion drove Kenobi on, just instinct layered over years and years of practicing the same footwork. Qui-Gon recognized that Kenobi retained the antiquated style he had earlier haltingly performed – though Qui-Gon himself had chosen a different style, many older masters still utilized the sophisticated form Kenobi was displaying – but the aerial acrobatics were all the Padawan's own. Even losing to an opponent who just moments before hadn't shown any inclination toward even participating, Qui-Gon could still hurriedly admire the Padawan's gracefully refined skill.

Within a few minutes, the Jedi Master – who had worn the edges off of his own energy by fruitlessly trying to goad Kenobi into a match earlier – stumbled slightly in his exhaustion and dropped to one knee on the thickly-padded training mat.

Kenobi's entire body trembled as he lifted his azure lightsaber high over his head, ready to deliver the killing blow. There was no satisfaction in his twisted gaze, no victorious exultation, only a grim acknowledgement that he had bested his opponent. His eyes were blank, far away, and though the training hall was deathly quiet Qui-Gon barely heard the agonized breath that slipped from Kenobi's shaking lips as he swung his lightsaber in a downward arc meant to bisect his opponent.

"Padawan!"

Qui-Gon barely managed to roll out of the way, knowing that the practice saber wouldn't permanently harm him if he was struck by it, but that he would be sporting some impressive and rather embarrassing-looking burns on his lined face that Mace would never let him hear the end of.

As it was, the sharp, unmistakable hum of the saber swished distressingly close to Qui-Gon's ear. He rolled smoothly and leapt to his feet, sending a sharp tendril of the Force to shut off Obi-Wan's saber. Hurriedly he placed his hands on Kenobi's wavering shoulders; the young Padawan stared in shock at the deactivated hilt clenched tightly in his fist before turning horrified eyes up to meet Qui-Gon's.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, the well-used words sliding with practiced ease from his lips, but he met Qui-Gon's gaze steadily. "I'm sorry. I lost my focus." There was a flicker of worried concern so brief that Qui-Gon almost missed it. "Will you tell the Council?" he asked immediately.

Qui-Gon stared hard at the young man for a long moment, willing himself to comprehend the truth beneath Kenobi's apprehensive question, his motive for asking, and how he should answer.

The Jedi Master considered. Sweep the incident under the training mat, as it were, and go on like nothing had happened apart from an unexpected display of skill? Or report in detail to the Council regarding all of Kenobi's training, as they had asked him to do?

Qui-Gon smoothed out the creased skin of his forehead with a callused finger, looping the motion around to tuck errant strands of grey-flecked mahogany, loosened during Kenobi's unexpected onslaught, back into the simple tie he often used to secure his hair away from his face. Normally, in a fit of minor rebellion to the restrictive Council mandates, he would keep something small like Kenobi's outburst from them. Their carefully-posed "request" – really an order – that he report each setback and achievement rankled him in the same way the "request" that he take on Kenobi as a Padawan did.

However, he suspected that Yoda would presume that keeping information from them was exactly what he would do; therefore, Qui-Gon decided to turn the tables on the tiny troll and tell the Council everything that had transpired, maybe even go into detail about all of the nothing the irritatingly blank slate – with sudden flashes of emotion and intensity – that was Kenobi had done during the past few days. **That** would show them.

Qui-Gon knew it was petty, but he was pretty sure his former master Count Dooku would have shared an amused and approving smile with him for his dislike of many Council mandates. Dooku possessed – and had perhaps even bequeathed to Qui-Gon – the same unwillingness to fit in with the current Council's strict interpretation of regulations as the young Padawan Jinn he had trained to Knighthood.

Qui-Gon decided to report to the Council – perhaps relating his mostly unsuccessful tutelage of Kenobi would encourage Yoda to either give him some answers, or possibly even reassign Kenobi.

"I'm afraid so," he told Kenobi gravely. "I've been ordered to report on all facets of your training and progress to Master Yoda."

Kenobi's answering nod was short and tight. "I had suspected as much, Master Jinn." In a single fluid motion he gathered up his robe, hanging on a hook nearby, and shrugged into it gracefully. "I shall see you at dinner. If you'll excuse me."

Qui-Gon watched him go, watched the rigid set of his young shoulders, and decided now would be as good a time as any to find Yoda.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It didn't take him long to secure an audience with his former Master, though while Qui-Gon waited he came to realize that his wanting to see the small Jedi had less to do with acting unpredictably to startle the Council and more to try and pierce the darkness of confused mystery that surrounded the young Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He settled gracefully on a comfortable divan across from Yoda in a quiet room off the main Council chambers, and for a moment they simply relaxed in each other's familiar company. Though he and Yoda had had many, many disagreements during Qui-Gon's Padawan training that had continued well into his Knighthood and even beyond, there was still a residual bond between them that echoed the warm friendship shared by a teacher and apprentice.

Qui-Gon waited patiently for Yoda to speak, and it wasn't long before the aged master's rasping voice lifted him from his freely wandering thoughts.

"Young Obi-Wan's training, going well, is it?"

Qui-Gon shook his head, ready for the question. "I regret to say that he lost control while we were sparring. If we hadn't been using practice sabers the chance that one of us would have been injured is great." Yoda's expression clouded, and Qui-Gon added his well-rehearsed postscript. "It is my estimation that his emotional control is tenuous at best; though perhaps if the Council could explain more of Kenobi's prior situation to me, I would know better how to train him."

"Unfortunate is this news," Yoda murmured sadly, long ears drooping, and Qui-Gon wondered how close he was in his surmise that young Kenobi had touched the Dark Side. "More training in control with him, I will have."

The statement surprised Qui-Gon. "More training with the Council?" he questioned, irritation seeping into his tone. "When, exactly, am **I** supposed to be training him, then? He already spends more time with the Council than any Padawan should."

"Necessary, it is," Yoda demurred sternly, grave displeasure lurking his clear, wide eyes, though Qui-Gon was uncertain if it was directed at him or the errant Padawan. "Work with him, we must, to bring him back. Patience you must have, Qui-Gon, with Padawan Kenobi and with us. In time, all will be revealed – "

"Bring him back?" Qui-Gon echoed, sounding harsh even to own ears. It was all too easy to let his aggravation at both the Council and Kenobi's reticence seep into his thoughts and his tone. "Back from where?"

Yoda shook his head firmly, tapping his small gimmer stick in Qui-Gon's direction warningly. "Reveal that to you, I cannot, young one, but see to Padawan Kenobi's control exercises I will. Continue, you will, with other training he must have."

The pointed instruction jabbed at the Jedi Master, feeding his annoyed resentment and reminding him of the disagreements he and Yoda used to have, and how easily his former master resumed that relationship when it suited the Council member's devices to take precedence over Qui-Gon's opinions.

"With all due respect, master," Qui-Gon bit out tightly, "It's impossible for me to get anywhere with him without forming a training bond, which, even had I the inclination to do so, would be impossible with the limited time you have given me to train him. I have spent only one week as his master and already I see the futility of trying to train him as my Padawan. I respectfully request, Master, that you take the boy as your own apprentice. I cannot train him with one hand tied behind my back, and I **refuse** to train him if I'm to be undermined by the Council at every turn."

"Undermining you, the Council is not." The old Jedi's denial was firm. "Respect you, Padawan Kenobi does, and listen to you also, he does."

"But he listens first to the Council," Qui-Gon interjected heatedly, surging to his feet, the ache of his earlier frustration dulling into tired rebuttal. "And therefore you must take him. This is not an unreasonable request, Master – I do not want him. Take him back, as you seem to want to be responsible for his training anyway." He drew himself up straight, towering over the small Master who watched him with sad eyes. "I formally renounce any claims on the apprenticeship of Padawan Kenobi."

Yoda's gimmer stick slammed into the floor, nearly driving into Qui-Gon's boot and making the tall Jedi Master actually stumble back a step to avoid a puncture in the strong leather.

"Stop this, you must, Qui-Gon! Know not, what you are doing. Need a Master, Padawan Kenobi does – "

"What about his **former** Master, then?" Qui-Gon interrupted, his protest aggravated.

Yoda's refute was to the point: "Impossible."

"Yes, I know!" Qui-Gon bit out, and the Living Force was singing a warning in his ears but he ignored it, his control snapping as easily and suddenly as Kenobi's had in the training hall earlier, words rushing out that he would soon regret, flowing as smoothly out of his mouth as if another were working his marionette strings. "Because Padawan Kenobi was **rejected** by his former master, was he not? But of course it's not important to tell me **why**, no, you merely give me someone else's rejected apprentice and hope to Force I can do a decent salvage job to save the pristine reputation of the Order so they don't have to turn out another failed – "

"Enough!" Yoda roared, and Qui-Gon was startled into silence by the force of the tiny Master's bellow, the invisible strings ordering his words ceasing to be. But instead of rage creasing the old Master's wrinkled face, only sadness lined its crevasses. "Much harm, your temper still causes, young one" he sighed, tapping his stick quietly on the floor. Raising his voice, he addressed not Qui-Gon, but the shadowy recesses near the entrance:

"Enter all the way, Padawan Kenobi; lurk not in the shadows while your welfare we discuss."


	5. V

This fic has the **best** reviewers. Please review. Reviews are like oxygen to an asphyxiating writer's soul. Really, they are. :)

I'm actually embarrassed now by the lame title of this fic. Like, it should be Latin or something equally epic to go with the awesomeness of the reviews readers have been leaving. Seriously. I didn't expect the fic to be as well-read or received, but I'm glad for it. Thanks, too, for the encouraging words about the last chap. It was so close to being deleted – actually, the entire story was almost deleted, but I'm glad I didn't do it. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and shown me that they're glad, too. :)

Also, and lastly, what the hell was I thinking putting in an actual _**conversation**_ with Yoda? That little bugger is hard to write! Ugh.

This chap started out short but kept growing; my Muse has been busy. I make no apologies for Qui-Gon humming "Evacuate the Dance Floor" in SAP2, but that doesn't mean I'm not embarrassed about it. I am. But that's why I write ridiculous stuff too, so those plot bunnies don't drift into stories like this one. And I'd like to thank mysong and illusions for admitting they read it by leaving a review. You're very brave readers. :)

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Five

As one of the most successful and respected mediators within the Jedi Order, Master Qui-Gon Jinn's typical agenda kept him very busy and in high demand where the Jedi Council felt an especially turbulent situation would benefit from his well-experienced hand. Qui-Gon gratefully and graciously acknowledged that he owed some majority of his remarkable effectiveness at negotiation to his former master, Dooku, his most revered of teachers. It was the well-educated Dooku, born into royalty but at a young age recruited into the Jedi, who had stressed to a troubled Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn struggling with his inability to reconcile his understanding of the Force with the Council's more narrowly rigid view, that wise and open-minded Jedi should not regard the Force as merely Dark and Light or in over-simplified terms of black and white, but to look at the whole of the picture and react accordingly.

Holding unshakably to this philosophy had pitted both Dooku and Qui-Gon against other Jedi at times but it also, the current Council members grudgingly admitted, made both Qui-Gon and his former master formidable negotiators who were stronger in the heightened empathy of the Living Force rather than bound to the rigidity of the Unifying Force. For that reason, the Council rarely hesitated to send either Jedi on assignments to handle the most delicate of truces and most fragile situations.

Yes, Qui-Gon was well-practiced in the art of diplomacy, of knowing what to say when no one else did, of nearly always having the right words at the right time.

All of his years of training, however, fled his mind in a rush when Yoda spoke suddenly:

"Enter all the way, Padawan Kenobi; lurk not in the shadows while your welfare we discuss."

Qui-Gon's stomach tightened painfully and promptly lurched from its proper place to speed sickeningly toward the floor as one of the shifting grey shadows surrounding the doorway recess slowly congealed into the hesitant form of Obi-Wan Kenobi trudging slowly toward the two Masters.

The slim Padawan's broad shoulders shook anxiously beneath his russet robe but his chin was lifted proudly as he strode past a silent Qui-Gon to kneel gracefully near the diminutive Master's chair. As Kenobi drew closer Qui-Gon could feel a hum in the air, similar to when the Padawan had been spurred into action in the training hall, and wondered why he hadn't sensed Kenobi's presence prior to Yoda's interruption – now that he was aware of the disruption in Kenobi's Force signature, it was difficult to ignore.

Qui-Gon's brow furrowed as he considered, wordlessly watching the young Padawan; though the Jedi counseled control over emotion above all, Kenobi was currently clearly unsuccessful at adhering to that most important tenet of the Code: jaw clenched, his compact body trembling, his blue-grey eyes stormy swells of shame and irritation. The Jedi Master realized with a surprised start that the hum he was sensing was Kenobi's grip on his self-control fraying along the edges.

Qui-Gon experienced a moment of sadness as he realized that Kenobi should have a teacher who could help him, could establish a training bond that would enforce and strengthen the barrier the Padawan fought to maintain on his own – a brief sorrow that clicked through him while he simultaneously ignored the inkling that he could be the one to help Kenobi; he intended to stand firm in his resolution to not apprentice another Padawan. Not after the last one had so nearly succumbed to the Dark.

After all, the apprentice's sudden loss of restraint had nearly overwhelmed Qui-Gon when Kenobi had attacked him earlier, but it appeared that Kenobi had now brought himself mostly under control with only a few small fissures splintering the impressive wall in which he had enclosed himself. He would be fine. Qui-Gon need not interfere.

"Master Yoda," Kenobi whispered tautly, inclining his head as he acknowledged the small Master. The air around the Padawan crackled and hummed and his expression, normally so carefully blank, flickered with anger and humiliation. "I'm sorry," Kenobi began quickly, sparing a tight, apologetic glance at Qui-Gon. "I didn't know – they didn't tell me … that Master Jinn was here with you."

"Padawan Kenobi." Yoda laid a gentle hand on Kenobi's shoulder, ignoring, for the moment, the Jedi Master standing silently nearby as he brushed off Kenobi's admission of guilt with a kind smile. "Worry not, little one. Fortunate, it is that here you are; for both of you – an assignment, we have."

Qui-Gon wasn't surprised by the news but he could tell that Kenobi was; the Padawan remained silently wary as he watched the Council member with hooded eyes. Qui-Gon noticed that Kenobi remained kneeling at Yoda's eye level, a courtesy he hadn't expected from the reticent young man, but not one that he found overtly startling given his observations on Kenobi for the past week: "Submissively ultra-obedient" was the notation Qui-Gon had made in his training log just that morning. And while Yoda and the other Council members might lap it up, the continued subservient behavior aggravated the stubborn Jedi Master who was responsible for at least **some** of the Padawan's training – at the very least, the small fraction the Council allowed_**, **_no, **demanded** that he be responsible for.

Qui-Gon ordered himself to reign in his meandering thoughts and focus on Yoda's words:

"To Agamar, in the Outer Rim, want you both to go, we do. A small dispute there, there is, minor but an important agricultural supplier for the Jedi, Agamar is. To avoid further trouble, depart quickly to assist, you will." Qui-Gon watched quietly as Yoda patted Kenobi's hand encouragingly; the Padawan was visibly upset, but didn't offer a protest or even an opinion. "Strong you must be, Padawan, rely on Master Jinn, you can."

An amused smile ghosted across Kenobi's wan face, breaking through his stoniness. "Yes, so I see."

Yoda leveled a stern look at the Padawan, admonishing him for his cynicism with a quick shake of his head. "Learn from Master Jinn, you will. Under control, keep yourself."

Kenobi's face dipped back toward the ground, his long ginger braid sliding out from behind his ear to graze his cheek listlessly. "Yes, Master." His voice was so soft Qui-Gon had to strain to hear it, and the hum around Kenobi abruptly quieted and died though Qui-Gon could see Kenobi's body wavering with the strain of fighting for self-control.

Half listening as Yoda outlined the details of their mission to Agamar, Qui-Gon watched, oddly fascinated by the play of emotion that warred across a young face that for the past week had remained as unresponsive as possible: Kenobi was distinctly unsettled at the thought of leaving the Temple. Qui-Gon was surprised at how easy it was for him to read Kenobi when the apprentice's defenses were crumbling – it was **not** the forming of a training bond, he told himself firmly, that left Kenobi so vulnerable to the Jedi Master, but perhaps more evidence that Kenobi had serious issues with keeping his control in check.

The thought was not a reassuring one for the Jedi Master.

"Back to your quarters, go now, and prepare," Yoda was saying, dismissing them with a short wave of his clawed hand, and Kenobi rose stiffly, bowing to the Council member and to Qui-Gon before striding toward the door. Qui-Gon waited patiently, this time ensuring Kenobi was out of hearing range before turning to Yoda.

"I do not think he is ready for this assignment, Master," he announced shortly.

Yoda looked up at him from heavy-lidded eyes, appearing exhausted – odd, Qui-Gon thought, since the aged Master had seemed fine before Kenobi's unexpected entrance. "Safe, this mission will be," he argued softly, a hint of weariness coloring his gravelly accent. "A chance for you to bond away from the Temple, it is."

Qui-Gon shook his head firmly, resolute. "I have no wish to bond with Padawan Kenobi; I believe I have made my feelings on the issue of his being assigned to me quite clear." There was no change in Yoda's tired, placid expression, so Qui-Gon added determinedly, "I would just like to state for the record that I am against this entire arrangement." A dry, knowing smile twisted his lips, tinged with annoyance as he finished, "but as you've shown no preference toward how I feel about any of your 'decrees' thus far, I would be beyond surprised if you agreed with me now."

Yoda smiled then, his clear eyes amused but solemn as he regarded the Jedi Master he knew so well. "That we understand each other, Master Qui-Gon, glad for it, I am."

Recognizing a dismissal, Qui-Gon bowed courteously, gathering the long folds of his robe inward and trying to keep the wry resignation from creasing his lined visage further. "As am I, Master. May the Force be with you."

The aged Council member left him with a few poignant parting words that Qui-Gon would rather have not heard:

"Your responsibility young Obi-Wan is." Yoda's stern voice was grave, all trace of humor fading. "Safe from the Dark, you must keep him."

Thoroughly unsettled, Qui-Gon left the Council room unhappily and to his surprise, Padawan Kenobi was pacing restlessly outside the doorway, obviously waiting for Jinn to emerge. Once he caught sight of the tall Jedi Master, however, he did not speak to him; rather, the apprentice bowed respectfully but quickly and ducked back through the doorway, but not before Qui-Gon had picked up on the peculiar hum he now associated with Kenobi losing his grip on his impressive control.

_Well,_ _well,_ the Jedi Master mused, tempted to wait for the Padawan but there was much to be done before their scheduled departure – he had been right when he'd told Kenobi earlier he didn't think the Council would waste time assigning them a mission and this had proven to be true, though their departure time was sooner than the Jedi had expected. Shaking his head regretfully, he pointed himself in the direction of his quarters, wishing he had time to hear the conversation taking place in the room he had just vacated.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"_Because Padawan Kenobi was __**rejected**__ by his former master, was he not?"_

Qui-Gon sighed, gently settling his final tan tunic atop the other clothing piled neatly into his travel bag.

"_But of course it's not important to tell me __**why**__, no, you merely give me someone else's rejected apprentice and hope to Force I can do a decent salvage job… "_

"A decent salvage job." Force, that's what he had said. Those were the words he had spoken about a troubled young man who was unfortunate enough to have overheard him.

Settling into the Living Force helped calm his regret, and Qui-Gon carefully looked for a way to mend the grievance with Kenobi as he completed packing his personal items and retrieved the requisition list from Supplies to review for their upcoming departure. There wasn't much time before they needed to leave.

The common room door hissed open, announcing the return of his temporary Padawan. Qui-Gon had realized while he packed that he should say something to the Padawan about the callous words he'd spoken to Yoda that Kenobi had overhead – intentionally or no – but he was, stunningly and for the second time that afternoon, at a loss for words.

After all, what could he say to minimize the biting words he had uttered? The Living Force had only counseled patience and that he must make amends to the Padawan; It certainly hadn't gone as far as giving him the words to say as it often did during intense negotiation sessions.

He heard Kenobi move through the common room and into the room he'd been assigned, and, following the prompting of the Force, Qui-Gon left his open bag on the bed and strode to Kenobi's open door. He found Kenobi swiftly jamming the few things he'd unpacked from his duffel back into the small bag with much more force than necessary, and as he turned to regard Qui-Gon, the Jedi Master noticed the pinched, angry expression on his pale face before it rippled and smoothed into an look of empty calm.

"Master Jinn," he greeted with a short bow, perfectly cultured tones dulcet and respectful, leaving no indication that the young man who had stood by and listened to his new Master refer to him as a "salvage job" had ever existed.

Qui-Gon frowned and pulled the cloak of the Living Force in tighter. "Obi-Wan, what I said earlier – " he began, but was interrupted by Kenobi's even tenor:

"Was correct, Master Jinn, and your frustrations are completely relevant. I understand now why you were so reluctant to take me on as your apprentice." Absolutely serene, completely rehearsed, though Qui-Gon couldn't miss the shaking hands Kenobi quickly put back to work.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "Do you?" The conversation he between Kenobi and Yoda that he had not been privy to made him curious. "Obi-Wan," he said slowly, Kenobi's first name tumbling hesitantly from his lips. "It's none of my business, but I would like to know, if you'll tell me: What exactly passed between you and Yoda after I left?"

Kenobi smiled humorlessly, fastening the closures on his dark duffel. "I yelled at him."

Qui-Gon was startled – he hadn't expected Kenobi to have the nerve to stand up to the small Council member. "You … yelled at Master Yoda?"

Kenobi sighed forcefully, running apprehensive hands through his ginger hair before letting his arms fall to his sides. "Yes, I did. He had no right – the Council had no right! – to say what they did." His tired eyes locked with the Jedi Master's and he offered Qui-Gon an understanding, bitter smile. "It's no wonder you didn't want me, on top of all of the difficulties of the situation, and I can hardly blame you for saying what you did to Master Yoda." Kenobi abruptly lost the battle with his restless body and paced to the small desk quickly, his mouth twisted into an ugly scowl.

"Rejected." Kenobi drew a deep breath, laughing hollowly and Qui-Gon felt the first fissures in Kenobi's control start to bleed out; infinitesimal veins of heartache and anger that seeped into his Force signature, shooting his azure aura through with traces of crimson.

"Rejected. That's what they're saying now, is it?" Kenobi asked tiredly, so softly bitter it unnerved the Jedi Master listening to his quiet despair. "That's what they told you," he murmured with a sigh, as vacuity slowly crawled back into his features, erasing the living young man standing before him and replacing him with the stolid Kenobi who had first arrived at Qui-Gon's door. "It's all about the pristine reputation of the Order."

"It's not true, then?" Qui-Gon ventured to ask. Kenobi didn't look at him, but though his face was composed, the hum was back, softly permeating the air, and it set Qui-Gon's teeth on edge. He'd never watched someone unravel right before his eyes.

"Oh, yes, it's true," Kenobi affirmed, seemingly uncaringly but Qui-Gon now knew better and he moved forward to stand near the Padawan who stood with his blue-grey eyes downcast, restive hands lying atop his closed travel bag. "From a certain point a view," he added helpfully. "I have made many grievous mistakes that a master should not have to suffer through witnessing, let alone try to make up for my own inabilities. I deserved to be … rejected." Again the bitter scowl. "For the good of the Order, you understand."

Qui-Gon smiled slightly, dropping a gentle, reassuring hand on the Padawan's broad shoulder. "I think I understand that better than you know, young one. I have had more than my share of conflicts with Yoda and the Council."

A hint of a kindred smile flashed through Kenobi's weary eyes though his tone was bland. "I apologize again, Master, for the inconvenience of our situation, and also for intruding on you and Master Yoda earlier."

Qui-Gon paused before forming a reply. Here was his opportunity. Kenobi was clearly as unhappy as he; they could mutually agree that this arrangement wasn't working and go their own ways. That was sensible and he was sure Kenobi would agree.

But if that was how it was going to end, Qui-Gon wanted to at least clear the air between them. "Obi-Wan," Again the simple familiarity caught him awkwardly, but he forged on. "I nearly lost my last Padawan to the Dark Side. It was … horrible, and a long and exhausting road to help set him aright." Once he admitted the words aloud, a tiny sliver of the grief he still retained from the struggle broke off and slipped away into the warmth of the Force. "I vowed not to take another apprentice after that," he finished quietly.

Kenobi's light eyes were serious as he regarded Qui-Gon. "I am sorry for your heartache," he said somberly, "and I regret that the Council asked you to do something you were so clearly against."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to offer Kenobi a way out, a reasonable solution for them both to return to their own lives…

Kenobi's jaw was still firmly clenched and his eyes were angry swells of grey.

"I think I may as well leave the Order now and spare everyone the trouble of wondering what to do with me," he said bitterly. "Master Yoda said you were my last chance."

And there it was.

The crux of the problem.

If no one else would take the young Padawan and he and Kenobi were to part ways, Qui-Gon himself could return to his routine. For Kenobi … there was … what? The AgriCorps?

Or worse, he could leave the Temple on his own, alone, half-trained, possibly more susceptible than most to the Dark? Qui-Gon knew he couldn't allow that, especially with Yoda's words ringing in his ears: _Safe from the Dark, you must keep him…_

"No," Qui-Gon said shortly, reaching a decision he was fairly certain had been encouraged by the Force, and Kenobi looked at him in surprise. "Leaving the Order is not an option for you. You're too powerful." He leveled a serious look at the despondent Padawan. "You need training and control, not to be left on your own to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting galaxy."

He squeezed the Padawan's shoulder still resting under his large palm. "We must presume that Council has been given insight regarding our apprenticeship that we ourselves are not yet privy to, young one. Therefore, I think," he offered, "that we should set aside for now our feelings about the Council and prepare for our mission. What do you think?"

Kenobi smiled then, a little sad, a little twisted, a faint relief tingeing his expression. "I guess we should finish packing then, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon nodded shortly. "I should think so, Padawan," and if it felt a little more natural this time to bestow the title on his temporary apprentice he certainly didn't allow it to register. Instead, he focused on Yoda's parting words:

_Your responsibility young Obi-wan is. Safe from the Dark, you must keep him._

Had he known how quickly and fiercely those words would come back to haunt him, Qui-Gon might have agreed with Kenobi that it was better that the young Jedi leave the Temple this very day.

For now, though, they shared a quiet moment of contemplation as each one considered the road ahead and wondered where it would lead them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Their departure from Coruscant occurred uneventfully and after a brief stint of awkwardly forced conversation, Qui-Gon left Kenobi to monitor the cockpit readouts while the elder Jedi adjourned to the lounge to unpack the datapads he and Kenobi would be perusing for the remainder of the trip to the Outer Rim. Qui-Gon also took the opportunity to send a brief comm message to Master Dooku; the elder Jedi, Qui-Gon had been informed some time ago, was among a small team of Jedi reassigned to Garos IV a few months previously to assist in rebuilding the settlements that had been destroyed during the Garosians' war with the neighboring Sundari. They would be within comm range of the Mid Rim planet on their way to Agamar, and Qui-Gon had resolved to take the opportunity presented to speak with his former Master and solicit his esteemed advice on how to proceed with Kenobi.

It would be refreshing, Qui-Gon though wryly, to speak with someone about Kenobi who _**didn't**_ have a hidden agenda.

He settled himself at the small table to await his former master's call and picked up a datapad containing information on the primary individuals they would be dealing with once they arrived in the capital city. After a short time, Kenobi wandered into the lounge, all controls set safely on autopilot while they were in hyperspace.

"Our ETA is approximately fifteen hours, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Excellent, Padawan, thank you." He handed Kenobi a reader with a small smile. "Better start your homework."

"Yes, Master."

Kenobi settled his slim body across from Qui-Gon, clicking the datapad on and for a short time they sat in silence reading until Qui-Gon finally very gently rested his head on the tabletop, quite certain that if he had to look at another line of scrolling text his eyes would never uncross. And while that image might be a source of amusement to the quiet Padawan sitting across the table from him, Qui-Gon himself was eager to avoid such a fate.

"Master Jinn?" A concerned edge cut into Kenobi's voice.

"Yes, Padawan Kenobi?" Qui-Gon didn't open his eyes, voice muffled by the table, and though the long strands of his mahogany hair were tickling at his nose, he made no move to brush them away. It was just too much work.

A pause. And then, "Is there something I can do for you?"

Qui-Gon enjoyed the coolness of the tabletop on his forehead, letting his weary eyes rest and stilling his mind. "No, Padawan, I'm fine. Thank you."

There was a rustling, and then Kenobi presumably returned to his own studies, but Qui-Gon sensed the amused ripple that drifted through Kenobi's essence.

"What can you tell me about Agamar, Padawan Kenobi? Where are we headed?"

He heard Kenobi's long fingers tap the pad quickly. "Agamar is an agriworld located in the Mirgoshir system in the Outer Rim. It was chosen as a supplier for the Jedi because of its proximity to the system's hyperspace crossroads. Apparently there's some dispute about compensation for services, so we've been assigned to the capital city, Calna Muun, to address the Agamarian Council. Information on the principal characters we are to negotiate with is on the reader you hold in your hand, but I can review that as well if you like. Geographical information about the area – "

Qui-Gon raised a hand quickly, straightening and offering the reciting Padawan a warm smile. "That's plenty for now, Obi-Wan, thank you."

Kenobi smiled, just a dry twist of his lips. "Master," he nodded.

"Are you always so comprehensive in your reports, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked with a small grin, impressed with Kenobi's attention to detail.

Kenobi's smile dropped. "Perhaps once. Not anymore." he answered blankly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They were cruising steadily through the Mid Rim, and Qui-Gon was spending his shift keeping an eye on the controls, which he had routed through the internal system to alert him in the lounge if there were any issues with their hyperspace travel. Kenobi was sleeping, his features twisted and uneasy even in the depths of his unconsciousness; Qui-Gon glanced briefly at him through the doorway of the Padawan's darkened cabin before withdrawing.

The comm in the lounge beeped loudly, signaling an incoming message. Pressing the "accept" key, Qui-Gon was delighted to see a small holoimage of his former master appear.

"Master Dooku!" he bowed his head courteously. "It is a pleasure to see you, my friend – I am glad you received my message."

Dooku, an older Jedi with a lined face and dark hair shot through with grey, looked almost exactly as Qui-Gon had remembered him, and though it had been long since he and his former master had spoken, Qui-Gon instantly felt the easy comradeship he and Dooku had always shared. Dooku smiled, warm and welcoming, and Qui-Gon felt a pang of sadness that so much time had passed since he had connected with the old Jedi.

"I contacted you as soon as I received word you were in range, Qui-Gon." Dooku's cultivated accent smoothly betrayed his confusion. "I was pleased yet surprised to hear you were being sent all the way out here. Tell me, why are you heading so far into the Outer Rim?"

Qui-Gon frowned but ignored the missing exchange of pleasantries. "I have been assigned a new apprentice, Master, a troubled Padawan who is … " he hunted for a word that wouldn't offend Kenobi anymore than he already had, "_estranged_ from his former master," he settled on. "Yoda is sending us on a 'trial' assignment the Council thinks will be safe."

Dooku smiled warmly, and even though many years had passed since he himself was a Padawan, Qui-Gon still felt a warm flush of pride sweep through him. "My old Padawan," Dooku said warmly, "you have become one of the best Masters in the entire Order; and you have not allowed yourself to be bullied by the Council into confining the Force into narrow-minded definitions of black and white." His smile widened, pleasure at his student's abilities reflected in his voice and words. "If anyone can bring this Padawan back to the right path, Qui-Gon, it is you."

Qui-Gon nodded gratefully. "I thank you, Master. Please, tell me about yourself; how are the rebuilding efforts proceeding?"

"As well as can be expected." A flicker of annoyance drifted across Dooku's features as he glanced offscreen over his shoulder. "I must be going, Qui-Gon, but I am pleased I was able to return your call. Perhaps we will speak again soon. I wish you the best success with your young apprentice."

Qui-Gon was reluctant for the call to end; it was rare that he was able to speak with someone who agreed with him. A low groan sounded from Kenobi's cabin, barely loud enough to carry into the lounge. Qui-Gon frowned, wondering if he should check on the Padawan.

"I don't know, Master Dooku," His frustration was palpable. "Kenobi is … " another hunt for an appropriate word, "off. Unusual. Hard to read."

Dooku's wavering attention jumped promptly back to the holoimager, his gaze narrowed and alert. "Kenobi? Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Though grateful for a few more minutes of his master's attention, Qui-Gon was startled by Dooku's rapt change in attitude. "You know of him?"

A nod, a prickling of pride in the Jedi Master's voice. "I may have been assigned to the Mid Rim, but I still hear the news from Coruscant; I am a valued consultant to the Jedi Council, you'll remember."

Qui-Gon nodded quickly to assuage any unintentional affront he had caused. "Of course, my Master, I meant no offense."

"Qui-Gon." Dooku's face was grave, his voice low as he looked quickly back over his shoulder before returning his undivided attention to the transmitter. "I implore you to be careful. Kenobi is not to be trusted." He shook his head and the surprised query died on Qui-Gon's lips. "I can say no more right now but I beg you to be cautious and return to the Temple as soon as you are able."

Still stunned, Qui-Gon could only nod wordlessly as he offered what details he could spare about their upcoming mission, and with a final word of warning, Dooku signed off and Qui-Gon stared the empty space where the hologram of his master had been.

A moan from the other room turned into a cry, and troubled by his conversation with Dooku, Qui-Gon rose hurriedly to check on the sleeping Padawan. As soon as he stepped into the Padawan's small cabin the force of Kenobi's unchecked power slammed into him, and Qui-Gon staggered as Kenobi's barely-held control unraveled.

_hurting me!_ spun through his mind and Kenobi's expression twisted in his sleep into a fierce snarl, his fingers arching into claws – for attacking or defending, Qui-Gon was uncertain, and with a _slap!_ the younger man's boots hit the deckplates as he stood, panting, eyes dark with anger.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon snapped in surprise, starting toward the bewildered apprentice. Haunted eyes turned to Qui-Gon: scared, confused, remorseful, and so very, very sad.

"I'm so sorry … I didn't mean to…" Kenobi whispered before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over, Qui-Gon's long strides barely bringing him to the Padawan's side quickly enough to prevent the young man's body from hitting the decking.

As soon as his arms enfolded the young man, Kenobi's eyes snapped open and he stared at Qui-Gon, breathing hard with streaks of perspiration rolling down his pale face.

"I'm sorry," he forced the words out, sounding confused. "I think … I fell into the Dark …?"

Qui-Gon helped him gently right himself, Dooku's words – _Not to be trusted! – _echoing through his mind and overlapping with Kenobi's softly panicked ones.

What the hell was going on?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

AN: I actually researched planet names and backgrounds, etc on Wookieepedia. I just wanted to add that note as a disclaimer that planets mentioned aren't any more mine than Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon are (unfortunately.)


	6. VI

Okay, this chapter has really been a bastard but I've decided to quit angsting over it and just post the damn thing, as I usually do in this situation, and just hope for forgiveness if it's not quite on.

This chap has a **language** warning … do good Jedi use words like that? Hmm. This fic is currently straddling the line between a T or an M rating, but I'm sticking with T for now as some of the M-rated fic on the site is quite graphic and this story isn't anywhere near that yet. If anyone feels I should change the rating, please let me know; I'd rather change the rating than have someone flag the fic and I lose my account!

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Six

"What do you mean, Padawan?"

Qui-Gon's demand was stern, uncertainty overwhelming the calm he fought to project into his voice. Enclosed in the circle of the thick musculature of Qui-Gon's arms, Kenobi shivered and shuddered, caught up in the tangles of the nightmare that had pulled him violently from his restless napping.

"_**Obi-Wan**_."

Qui-Gon's worry-roughened voice was harsh, demanding the apprentice's attention, which he slowly, unwillingly, gave, fighting to focus his shifting grey eyes onto Qui-Gon's ice blue stare without twitching away.

"_**Obi-Wan**_," Qui-Gon repeated, no less firmly, willing Kenobi to concentrate. Qui-Gon had rarely seen a Jedi wrapped as deeply as Kenobi in the Unifying Force, and while he was no stranger to the more austere side of the Light and the toll that its premonitions and dreams could have, his own foreshadowing had always been blanketed in the soothing warmth of the Living Force. He could clearly see that Kenobi was suffering, and a thin thread of pity wound through his heart at the young man's anguish.

Still, he needed answers.

"What do you mean, you 'fell into the dark,' Padawan?" he pressed forcefully. "What happened?"

"The dark … the Dark Side," Kenobi breathed, hitching gasps interrupting his hesitant words. "I think … I didn't mean to … "

"Padawan Kenobi, _**focus**_," Qui-Gon instructed calmly.

If he had hoped that formality would help Kenobi pull himself back together, he was rewarded when the young man suddenly struggled free of his grasp and pushed himself awkwardly to his knees. Panting slightly, Kenobi braced his splayed palms against his slender thighs, head down, thin braid swaying into his downcast face as he wrestled to bring his labored breathing under control. Thin rivers of perspiration streamed down Kenobi's pale face, saturating his ginger hair and curving under his taut jawline. His eyes were wide but dull, and when he finally answered Qui-Gon's question, his words did little to set the anxious Jedi Master at ease.

"Did I hurt you, Master Jinn?"

"Excuse me?"

Qui-Gon rocked back on his heels smoothly, finally feeling the discomfort of hunching over start to send slivers of throbbing racing through his lower back. He arched his spine stiffly, considering Kenobi's statement.

"No, you didn't hurt me; what are you talking about, Padawan?"

Qui-Gon waited patiently while Kenobi drew energy to himself to speak, willing his own confused and concerned emotions back into calm so he could at least present the illusion of being the Stoic Jedi Master who was not **again** doubting that the decision of the Council to throw he and Kenobi together had been completely wise.

Perhaps Kenobi **would** be better off in the AgriCorps. At least then whomever would be assigned to manage him wouldn't constantly be wondering if he even belonged there. Kenobi could settle in, he would adjust eventually, and even if he never became a Jedi Knight he could still be useful …

_Safe from the Dark, you must keep him._

_Yes, old troll, I remember,_ Qui-Gon thought brusquely, unhappy with hearing Yoda in his head – perhaps an irreversibly lasting effect from the training bond they had once shared, because he was **always** hearing his former Master at the most inopportune times.

Qui-Gon's attention was arrested when he noticed that Kenobi was moving, his bowed head lifting slowly; his grey eyes were awash in unshed tears but his dulcet voice was carefully modulated, irritatingly calm to the rankled Jedi Master who still sat hunched near the Padawan.

"I'm relieved you're uninjured, Master Jinn," he said quietly. "I think I understand now."

He struggled slowly to rise to his feet, cautiously gaining his footing. He reached out a slim hand to assist Qui-Gon, and the Jedi Master took the proffered help hesitantly.

"You understand what, Padawan?" Qui-Gon questioned guardedly, dread settling back into a leaden pool in his stomach at the return of Utterly Void Kenobi, who he was slowly coming to differentiate as the facet of Obi-Wan Kenobi's personality that he liked the absolute least – actually, 'near despised' summed his feelings up much better. There was something extremely unnerving about Kenobi's vacuity when he reverted into the blank shell of a man who had seen and perhaps endured too much for his mind to completely process – or least avoid being completely fragmented in a desperate attempt to preserve some remnant of sanity.

It saddened the Jedi Master who loved the Living Force with all his heart to see one so wounded, so lost, and to know that his chances for redemption had grown so increasingly slight that Qui-Gon himself was Kenobi's last, desperate chance for achieving the Knighthood he had desired for so long.

"I occasionally have visions of what is to be, Master Jinn," Shifting awkwardly, Kenobi finally murmured reluctantly, almost unwilling to share the knowledge of an ability that apparently pained him greatly. "I saw … I thought … I thought that I had injured you," he finished slowly, unhappily.

Qui-Gon processed this bit of information as the Padawan added, "Master Jinn," and he waited until Qui-Gon's gaze was fully on him before pronouncing softly, his voice barely a cracked whisper,

"What I saw may indeed be a vision of the future; and if it was, you must be cautious." His eyes were somber, sadness illuminating the topaz highlights in their weary depths. "I have already lost control once. I do not know if it will happen again."

Qui-Gon nodded heavily, already feeling decades older at Kenobi's warning. That Kenobi was prone to mental blackouts was **also**__something the Council had not bothered to tell him. Of course.

"We shall both be careful, Padawan Kenobi," he replied, a faint hint of resignation tracing wearily through his measured tone. Dooku's earlier words drifted across his mind, confirming what Kenobi himself had just admitted: _he is not to be trusted… return to the Temple as soon as you are able … _"And we will endeavor to complete our assignment successfully and return quickly to the Temple," he concluded, allowing a small, worn smile at the grateful relief that washed across Kenobi's wan face when he realized that Qui-Gon hadn't given up on him. He placed a gentle hand on the young Jedi's arm, unbidden words of comfort springing to his lips – he later would attribute them to the Living Force.

"And I will watch over you, young one," he promised softly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon settled easily into the practical comfort of the co-pilot's chair; though it was a little tight for his large frame, he leaned back into the cushioned seating with his innate grace, gratefully stretching his long legs under the instrument console and simply enjoying the visual pleasure that always accompanied the return to normal space from traveling through hyperspace.

The warm azure streamlines of light shortened into hard, cold white pinpricks, and the suddenness of ceasing the jump always amused him: no visible planet through the cockpit window, and then in the next second, _bam!_ _There's your planet, and thanks for traveling with us!_ His destination would fill the viewscreen as suddenly as the normal excited nervousness he always felt at a first contact situation crammed his senses, tightening his stomach and allowing the corners of his mouth to lift in pleased anticipation. Qui-Gon had found after many very, very busy years that he was so much more at home out here on an assignment; making new acquaintances, building friendships, and forming alliances were far more rewarding to him than being confined to the dim corridors of the Temple.

And he had become quite spoiled of late with his assignments, having only himself to worry about without entertaining the need to be concerned about how a Padawan would handle the intricacies of diplomacy that so often ruled these meetings. Some Padawans could be useful and assist; others he knew grew easily bored with the seemingly endless talk of rules and stipulations, political maneuvering and concessions that often went along with successfully negotiating a pact or truce between the arguing parties. Qui-Gon himself often found his attention would wander if the talking went on too long.

This assignment, however, he needed to remain focused, as he not only had a Padawan along to watch and worry over, he had a very unique Padawan to concern himself with.

He glanced over to where Kenobi sat in the pilot's chair, idly watching the stars streak by as they awaited the sounder that would inform them it was time to return to normal space. Qui-Gon watched the quiet Padawan, feeling the continued ache of trepidation had increased after his discussion with Kenobi.

The sounder chimed and Kenobi's slender fingers ticked off the appropriate controls. Qui-Gon usually felt a little nauseous as he watched the stars blur from streaks to pinpricks as their ship dropped effortlessly out of hyperspace, but the transition was smooth and the cool colors of Agamar soon appeared in the cockpit window, pleasantly soothing to their eyes. Qui-Gon felt the first stirrings of excitement start to creep in; the Jedi Master thrived on meeting new beings, always delighting in the varying shades individuals brought to the prism of color that was the Living Force. It kept him encouraged, whole, **alive** to feel the Force sing so exuberantly and wholly.

Following the instructions from the bored-sounding air controller, Kenobi landed their small vessel expertly on the designated landing pad, sinking back into his chair with a relieved exhalation once the controls no longer needed his constant attention to ensure the safety of the two Jedi. He offered Qui-Gon a wan smile, still displaying touches of the awkward tension that had barely decreased between.

They disembarked quickly, Kenobi falling into step behind and to the right of Qui-Gon, which perplexed the Jedi Master slightly as he was accustomed to his Padawans falling in step beside him. He said nothing, though, instead bowing warmly to the assembled delegates at the bottom of the landing ramp.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Because of the amplified strain surrounding them, Qui-Gon had been admittedly gravely concerned as to how Kenobi would interact with the individuals they were to meet, but he soon found to his great relief that his worries were unsubstantiated: Kenobi smoothly transformed into more than just a model Padawan, he was almost superhuman in his attention to detail. The Padawan with the shattered defenses was gone, replaced by a Padawan who to Qui-Gon's startled astonishment was more than capable of handling the negotiations himself.

It was unnerving, though Qui-Gon was admittedly grateful for Kenobi's able assistance; any answers or information Qui-Gon needed, the younger man had at the ready. He chatted easily with the council members, laughed lightly at their jokes, and smiled warmly as he asked about their families.

Qui-Gon was beyond pleased by the transformation Kenobi had undergone, and without thinking about it much he easily fell into the routine of depending on the Padawan as he had for so many years with his previous apprentices. Kenobi did not disappoint him, and Qui-Gon knew he must have been a valued asset by his former Master. That revelation made him all the more curious as to why Obi-Wan would have been rejected by his teacher when the young man was so clearly capable of handling himself in a manner befitting a most-esteemed and proficient apprentice.

He continued to watch Kenobi – he did not intend to take Kenobi's warning lightly, after all – but as he laid a hand on Kenobi's broad shoulder at the conclusion of the day's negotiations, he allowed himself a satisfied smile. The contract talks had ended on a more successful note than he had originally anticipated and he was pleased with their progress.

Kenobi's quiet eyes rose to meet his at the clearly unexpected contact and Qui-Gon squeezed Kenobi's shoulder kindly.

"You did excellent work today, Padawan; I could not have asked for a more competent assistant."

Kenobi ducked his head politely. "Thank you, Master Jinn. The honor was mine to be able to aid you as I was."

"You will make someone a fine apprentice one day," Qui-Gon replied honestly, and the words settled uncomfortably in the air between them. Qui-Gon hadn't intended them as they had sounded, yet the hollowness to them stood out strongly.

"Come along, Padawan Kenobi," he said gently. "Let us retire for the evening."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

That night, as they rested in the apartment assigned to them by the council, Qui-Gon was awoken from a deep slumber by an insistent thrumming in his mind. Prying his gritty eyes open tiredly and rising from his bed, he glanced around their borrowed apartment for the source of the disquiet. He was unsurprised that it emanated from Kenobi's quarters, and he silently looked into the darkened room.

Kenobi sat on his bed, back pressed against the wall; head down, eyes closed, and Qui-Gon watched the Padawan in sorrowful amazement: gone was the easygoing, superhuman Negotiator. In his place was a quietly sobbing young Jedi, silvery tear tracks on his hollow cheeks shining in the dim moonlight.

Qui-Gon made the immediate decision not to alert Kenobi to the fact that he was also awake; it was difficult enough for the Padawan to be at ease around him when he was in full possession of his faculties and Qui-Gon worried that if Kenobi were aware that the Jedi Master could see as well as sense his grief tonight he may lose all ground they had gained in each other's presence.

His train of logic didn't make it any easier, however, to know that Kenobi grieved deeply just a few meters away and not do anything about it.

Although … there was **something** he could do …

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and submerged himself deeply into the calm of the Force, relaxing in the soothing melody of the song of the Living Force, letting it play over in his mind until he could focus on the Signatures he could sense. It didn't take him very long to find Kenobi … there was no small irony, he thought, in realizing he himself was ignoring his own determination **not** to form a bond with the young man, not to commit to a Padawan he hadn't wanted … and yet he determinedly reached for the crackling essence that was Kenobi's Signature in the Force, concentrating on sending warmth and peace to the quietly weeping Padawan.

After a time, he heard the Padawan's sobs ease as Kenobi drifted into a troubled sleep, slumping awkwardly to the side. Only then did Qui-Gon quietly enter the room, gently easing the young man into a supine position and pulling the light coverlet up to his shoulders. Carefully he disengaged from the shrouded and shadowy recesses of Kenobi's Signature and, making his way back to own quarters, allowed himself to slip into a deep yet uneasy sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They had succeeded, and Qui-Gon was pleased for it. The Council would be happy; the Agamarians were satisfied and would continue to supply the Jedi. Qui-Gon had again been amazed by Kenobi's transformation to diplomat, and had realized beyond any doubt that if Kenobi continued to be cultivated toward Knighthood he would be a very successful negotiator for the Jedi.

They departed with the warm wishes of the Agamarian delegates, and had settled into a quiet routine of Qui-Gon watching over Kenobi's shoulder as the young man monitored the control panel. They were returning to the Temple, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He was unsure what he would do regarding Kenobi when they arrived; he was conflicted as to his role in the Padawan's future. It would be a relief to have Yoda's assistance with Kenobi, no matter how much Qui-Gon grumbled about his former Master.

Qui-Gon had also decided that another call to Master Dooku was in order; he had placed the comm call shortly before liftoff and he anxiously awaited the return reply.

Agamar had shortly faded into the blackness of space when Kenobi's brow creased as he directed Qui-Gon's attention to the comm. "Master Jinn, we're receiving a distress call, set to play over all available frequencies. Shall I run it?"

Qui-Gon didn't hesitate. "Of course, Padawan."

Kenobi flipped a switch and a desperate voice filled the cockpit, garbled through with static.

"… _in the vicinity, please respond … attacked … please help … "_

Kenobi glanced over at Qui-Gon anxiously. "What should we do, Master Jinn?"

"We must help if we are able, Padawan," Qui-Gon said promptly. "Retrieve the coordinates from the transmission and adjust our course to intercept."

"Yes, Master Jinn," Kenobi set to work, a furrow in his brow underscoring the composure he tried to convey. After a moment he reported, "One hour until we reach the designated vessel."

Qui-Gon felt a sliver of doubt creep through his mind – his instincts warned him that he should return with Kenobi to the Temple; the young Jedi was still too volatile, and Qui-Gon had no idea how Kenobi would react to being under pressure where lives might depend on their reaction.

But those lives wouldn't be given the opportunity to depend on them if they never showed up. No, it was their responsibility to aid the helpless; they had to go.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Something wasn't right.

No drifting ship awaited them when they arrived at the coordinates given in the distress call … there was nothing, just stars glittering against the backdrop of space.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Kenobi said uncomfortably, seconds before all hell broke loose.

The piercing howl was deafening, screaming through the corridors and cabins of their small vessel. The Jedi slapped their hands over their ears reflexively but the sound easily penetrated through their fingers, digging into their awareness and setting their nerves on edge.

Something _pushed_ against Qui-Gon's mind, and he saw by the startled expression on Kenobi's face that he had felt it, too, only Kenobi's surprise quickly transformed into knowing horror, and Qui-Gon realized sickly that Kenobi already knew what was happening.

"Qui-Gon!" Kenobi shouted over the noise. "It's – "

Sudden, raging blackness swept across Qui-Gon's vision; his hearing cut out, and his strength left him in a rush as he staggered against the unexpected onslaught, crumpling to the deck. When he forced his eyes open a moment later, he saw Kenobi sprawled in a similar state, jammed up against the comm. Blood dripped steadily from a gash on Kenobi's forehead where he'd clipped the console and Qui-Gon crawled over to the Padawan, pulling his limp body into his arms and placing the back of his hand against the sticky crimson decorating Kenobi's pale cheek.

"Padawan?"

Kenobi's eyes snapped open but they were unfocused, and Qui-Gon recognized the same young Jedi who had almost sliced him in half with a practice lightsaber a few days before.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon said sharply.

"_master's here..."_ Kenobi whispered. "_oh, Force… "_

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon immediately went for the lightsaber on his belt, one arm tightening around Kenobi protectively.

The confusion in Kenobi's eyes was swiftly replaced by dawning fear, tensing his quivering frame as he realized the close proximity between himself and Qui-Gon, and rather than calming into his temporary Master's comforting grip, he hissed and bucked, scrabbling hard against Qui-Gon's encircling arm.

Surprised, Qui-Gon released him and Kenobi fumbled and flailed backward until he hit the edge of the console where he stopped, panting, naked fear rolling off him in waves: a wounded animal ready to bite the hand of friend and enemy alike.

"Padawan, pull yourself together!" Qui-Gon snapped, reaching out a hand to steady the cowering Jedi.

"_don't touch me!_" Kenobi scraped angrily, pressing further back, his ragged voice so unlike his normally bland tone. "_don't you fucking touch me!"_

Qui-Gon drew back, shock nearly throwing his balance off. Kenobi had completely unraveled, the throbbing in the air that Qui-Gon had learned to associate with Kenobi losing control was so loud now that Qui-Gon had to fight to keep focused – more than bouncing off the walls in the small room, though, Qui-Gon could feel it in his mind, howling and sobbing and echoing the darkness that made Kenobi's furious and frightened eyes burn black.

"_it's a trap!"_ Kenobi breathed, "_it's a trap it's a trap a trap oh fuck it's a trap _– _!_"

Qui-Gon recovered quickly, a testament to his own grounding in the Force and years of training.

"Obi-Wan! Listen to me! Focus! We need to get out of here! Listen to my voice. Follow my voice, Obi-Wan." He was unyielding but gentle, pouring his energy into soothing waves of the Force that he sent towards the cringing young Jedi…

And that was the last thing he remembered.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sigh. It _**is**_ a little rushed, isn't it? And so wordy! But please let me know what you think, anyway. That's right, you. Reading this right now. _**You. You want to review this chapter … **_would it help if I said reviews feed the Muse and help keep me on track?


	7. VII

_Please note that this story is rated T for bad-Jedi language, some violence, and some non-graphic adult situations._

Just when you thought (and probably hoped) that Qui-Gon couldn't possibly spend any more time being hopelessly confused ...

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Seven

All was silent in the small ship apart from the communications console beeping impatiently at him, and while he really, really wanted to ignore it – maybe Kenobi could retrieve the message – the Jedi Master knew that at some point he would have to get up anyway, even though the soft vibrations of the ship's engines through the deck were actually rather comforting in a way, gently lulling him back into the blackness that had flooded his mind after …

… _master's here..._

Qui-Gon Jinn bolted upright, waves of dizziness crashing over him and he quickly put a hand to his head, hoping the simple gesture would ground him somehow. He groaned lowly, regretting his hasty movement.

"Take it easy, Qui-Gon, you are trying to do too much too fast."

The voice was warm, velvety familiar to his ears and the concerned words were spoken with a hint of longsuffering amusement. Qui-Gon allowed a small smile of his own at the well-known mantra heard so many times during his apprenticeship: Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn had been no less impetuous than Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, though Jedi Master Qui-Gon had come to realize over the years that what he had originally thought was impetuousness often turned out to be the Living Force nudging him in some direction or another.

"I didn't know you were assigned to rescue parties now," he rasped, gratefully accepting the gentle hand that brushed his temple gracefully, sending warm and healing energy that calmed and soothed the residual headache to a light background drone.

"I am not. But when I heard you might be in trouble, how could I not come when I was so near to you, my young Padawan-learner?"

The easy familiarity was like a balm to Qui-Gon's puzzlement, and he relaxed fractionally.

"It has been a long time since I have been a Padawan, Master," he acknowledged ruefully, grasping for the console behind him to lever himself to his knees. His old master's reassuringly firm grip under his bicep was surprisingly helpful; Qui-Gon's knees were unexpectedly weak as he rose shakily, leaning against the comm once he was upright while the cockpit spun dizzily before his eyes.

"Are you all right, Qui-Gon?" Dooku questioned quietly, and when Qui-Gon nodded slowly the old Jedi glanced at him in concern, confusion etched into his proud features. "And your Padawan? Is he not with you?"

A small thrill of horror swept through Qui-Gon at the elder Jedi's query. "You didn't find him also? Padawan Kenobi?"

Dooku shook his head regretfully, concern flashing in his face. "You were alone, Qui-Gon. There was no sign of anyone else aboard."

Except for the sticky crimson smear on the decking that had pooled where Kenobi lay after smacking his head on a console. Qui-Gon averted his eyes, feeling tension tighten his stomach and throat.

"That's not possible, Master. Padawan Kenobi **was **here. We diverted course to intercept a distress signal… "

Dooku frowned, interrupting as Qui-Gon trailed off. "Yours was the only vessel in the area, Qui-Gon. As the nearest Jedi to your current location, we received an emergency signal from the Council requesting we respond to the distress signal your vessel was transmitting. I knew that it was you, so of course I accepted."

"We're sending a distress signal?" Qui-Gon was surprised, realizing that was the source of the beeping on the communications console. Curious, he pressed the speaker, and Kenobi's emotionless voice filled the small cockpit.

"Attention Jedi Temple, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi; we have been diverted from our course by a distress signal and engines are now offline. Please send aid to the following coordinates … "

A string of numbers followed, all recited in Kenobi's familiarly bland tone, and the message clicked over to begin again. Qui-Gon stabbed the speaker button to shut the recording off, confused.

"But the engines aren't offline," he noted, the knot in his stomach growing uncomfortably. "I don't understand. I must find Padawan Kenobi," he murmured tersely. "Something is very wrong."

Dooku laid a hand on Qui-Gon's arm, clearly troubled. "I fear I must return to where I am required, Qui-Gon, though I will assist you as I can in the search for your young Padawan." Dooku's gaze narrowed and he added curtly, "Did I not tell you that Kenobi could not be trusted? Are you so certain that this decoy wasn't a ruse of his own making? After all, he clearly had the presence of mind to record a fraudulent message for the Council on Coruscant."

The thought had honestly not entered Qui-Gon's mind, but now it did nothing to ease the tense uneasiness that gnawed relentlessly at him. "Why would he do that, Master?" he questioned, skeptically but respectfully. "Kenobi was intent on becoming a Jedi Knight; he would have known such deception would greatly harm his chances." It was weak and Qui-Gon knew it, knew also his lame reasoning wouldn't pass muster with his former Master.

"Who can say?" Dooku replied absently, straightening his robes as he prepared to return to his shuttle. "My interactions with Kenobi were seldom, but I have always thought him to be unstable. Why the Council assigned him to you rather than releasing him from the Order I do not know – though I do not think it was out of simple kindness on their part."

"Why would that be, Master?" Qui-Gon wondered, suspicion cold as it mingled with his growing tension.

"Kenobi is dangerous," Dooku said shortly. "I wonder that you didn't realize it, but perhaps he is more skilled than I had imagined. For the safety of all concerned, I recommend you return to the Temple immediately; I am sure the Council will know what to do."

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon replied automatically, an old habit that had never quite left him. "I shall endeavor to keep you updated."

"See that you do," Dooku acknowledged. "I will wait for word from you, and if I can assist you I implore you to let me know."

Qui-Gon watched absently from the cockpit as his former Jedi Master's shuttlecraft disembarked from the small shuttlebay of the Council vessel, his gaze tracking the small shuttle but his mind wandering along a track that frankly confused him. He and Padawan Kenobi had not formed an official training bond, but with the young Jedi nowhere to be found, a part of his mind that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge was eerily silent and that worried Qui-Gon Jinn more than anything; as disconcerting as it was, he realized that he'd become accustomed to the discordant hum that often accompanied Kenobi, accentuating the young Jedi's discomfort and continual struggle to keep his control in check.

Now there was nothing but silence in his head and in his ears, and it concerned Qui-Gon greatly. As soon as Dooku's shuttle had cleared his path Qui-Gon swiftly engaged the dual levers that would propel his vessel into hyperspace, heading toward the pre-calculated route to Coruscant. Though he didn't do his own piloting very often he was certainly no novice, and Qui-Gon settled into light meditation from the pilot's chair, keeping a portion of his awareness directed on the ship's sensors while he puzzled and meditated over recent events, hoping to find answers even before he reached the Temple.

Primary in his thoughts was Kenobi. The young Jedi had vanished, literally without a trace other than the blood smudges on the console and the decking. The only recent hyperdrive trails in the area were Dooku's and that of the Council vessel, there were no hospitable planets within short range, neither of the shuttles on their vessel had been taken, and there was no sense at all that Kenobi was anywhere nearby, though Qui-Gon knew that he was limited in his ability to sense Kenobi's presence due to the absence of a training bond.

Without a hyperdrive trail to follow, Qui-Gon's options seemed to be to return to the Temple or begin a galaxy-wide search for Kenobi with no evidence to point him in any direction to even start in.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He had chosen to return to the Temple. The nagging thought edged the back of his mind that if Kenobi had been a Padawan of his choosing, if he **truly** had wanted the young Jedi, returning to the Temple wouldn't even be considered, but in truth Qui-Gon was weary of Kenobi's unsettling and disturbing nature. And Qui-Gon trusted Dooku's estimation – his former master had not yet steered him wrong with any of his perceptions, and if he had to choose between Yoda and Dooku, Qui-Gon knew without a doubt that Dooku's sage advice was that which he would follow whenever possible.

So he would return to the Temple, and turn the search over to Master Yoda and the Council. He would assist, of course – he was technically still responsible for Kenobi – but if this turned out to be a ploy of some sort on Kenobi's part as Master Dooku had implied, Qui-Gon would have no problem relinquishing Kenobi back to the Council and Yoda was on his own to do whatever he wanted to try and salvage their current pet project.

Only, when Qui-Gon closed his eyes, it wasn't the superhuman Negotiator Kenobi had become on Agamar that filled his thoughts.

It was a tired, empty-eyed young Jedi who known very clearly the fine line he walked; it was the quiet tears in the dark of the night and the flashes of amused spirit that had shone through Kenobi's cracked defenses.

_Where are you?_ he wondered as he walked silent paths in his meditation, searching for one he knew he wouldn't find. His troubled thoughts occupied his time the entire trip to Coruscant, and when the proximity alarm beeped at him warningly, Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, shifting awkwardly in the pilot's chair. They had been halfway to Coruscant before detouring to check on the falsified distress signal, but the Jedi Master was still surprised by how quickly he had completed the remainder of the trip.

He commed ahead to the Temple and was informed that Master Yoda would await him on the landing platform; he was unsurprised and actually a little grateful that he could meet with Yoda privately rather than reporting to the Council.

He docked the ship with a minimum of fuss, and gathered up his robe. Yoda was waiting at the bottom of the landing ramp – not impatiently, of course, but as close to it as the small Master allowed himself to get.

"Master Qui-Gon. News, you have for me?" he asked, forgoing greeting and preamble. It was a true testament, Qui-Gon realized, to how upset the Council member truly was.

"Yes, Master," he replied, quickly detailing everything that had happened, from the successful negotiations on Agamar to the distress signal and his meeting with Master Dooku.

Yoda was grim and silent as he listened, the Force around him pulsing with strength of the power the small Jedi Master struggled to keep in check, but tendrils of sadness and distress still stabbed through the air around Qui-Gon, surprising him with the depth of Yoda's concern for Kenobi.

"Most unfortunate, this news is," Yoda finally murmured softly, large eyes sad. "Find him, we must. Assemble search teams, we will." He looked at Qui-Gon gravely and his eyes narrowed shrewdly, almost as if he were sizing up the large Jedi Master. Finally he said quietly, "More use you would be here at the Temple, Master Qui-Gon; assist with the search for Padawan Kenobi you need not."

"What? I can't do that," Qui-Gon immediately protested; Kenobi was still his charge, after all. "He is my responsibility."

"For your own safety, I recommend this," Yoda murmured, already turning away. "Accept now I do all responsibility for Padawan Kenobi. Free you are to resume your former duties."

"What?" Qui-Gon repeated, stunned, irritation slowly setting in as his long strides easily caught up with Yoda's slow pace. "You bullied me into taking him as a Padawan and now that something's happened you want me to forget about him?" Never mind that he had been considering that very thing on his return trip to Coruscant – "I can't do that."

Yoda swiveled to peer up at him, and Qui-Gon was struck by the absolute certainty in the small master's steady gaze.

"Better for you it is if now your association with Padawan Kenobi ends. No more I have to say on this." He stumped off, leaving Qui-Gon standing alone in the hall staring after him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The powerfully executed kick landed with satisfying, crunching force into Kenobi's unprotected side, and the enraged Jedi towering over the barely-conscious Padawan smiled grimly, coldly energized by the satisfying aftershocks that rippled up his thickly-booted sole from the thrill of the contact.

Sprawled limply on the cold permacrete of the floor, Kenobi said nothing as his body absorbed the blow; ribs the Jedi Master knew had been broken before easily splintering under the crushing impact. Kenobi had been well-trained, but an agonized whimper that was almost a howl escaped him nonetheless as he reflexively curled around his wounded flank, shaking and trembling under the agonizing assault.

"Little bastard!" the Jedi snapped angrily, his words whipping into the cold air of the detention chamber. "Thought you could run to Yoda, did you? Thought that help you, he could?" and he enjoyed the cruel stab as he mocked the small Jedi Master's twisted syntax. Kenobi's resultant low moan was answer enough, and the Jedi could feel as well as hear the low hum building in the air, exciting him with how little it had taken to bring Kenobi to this point.

He felt no sympathy for the Padawan lying in crumpled heap at his feet; instead, long-building rage coursed through him, snapping into pieces the compassion for the young Jedi that he had once held, replacing that dead emotion with hatred and wrath, and a frigidly bitter pleasure that one who had been taken from him had been so fortuitously returned.

Though he knew that Kenobi had been meticulously reassembled by Yoda and other Council members, even the _all-powerful _Jedi Council wasn't capable of producing the miracle it would take to make Kenobi whole, which left the young Padawan as gratifyingly susceptible as he had ever been.

It wouldn't take much to achieve what he had set out to do, what he had almost succeeded in doing before Kenobi had somehow slipped from his control.

Kenobi just needed to be reminded of his ultimate purpose.

Another kick followed the first, and the whimper turned into a sob, though the Master knew it was more from the truth sinking into Kenobi's slowly-comprehending mind than the pain.

"_You thought I wouldn't find out_?"

The Jedi Master's lips pulled frighteningly back from clenched teeth in a grotesque approximation of a smile. Kneeling, the Jedi pushed into Kenobi's shoulder harshly, grinning in genuine pleasure at the contact while forcing the Padawan to uncurl from his defensive posture until Kenobi's wide eyes were staring directly into the unforgiving gaze that bored into him.

"You forget, little one, that I know **everything** about you."

The Jedi's voice lost its sneer and became as smooth as shimmersilk, every purring word wounding like the lash of a whip across Kenobi's bared soul, the excitement the Jedi felt at their closeness crackling excitement through him. He was so close now that his nose almost brushed Kenobi's, the younger Jedi's uncontrolled, frightened gasps for air rasping against his bearded cheek and stirring a familiar ache.

"_**Everything**_, my Padawan," he whispered covetously, greedily stroking the soft, plaited line of Kenobi's long braid, lingering on each small bead that symbolized a Trial passed, and the Padawan shuddered on a choked, hopeless sob.

"I know how you earned each of these," he continued almost lazily, rubbing the ruby bead wound into Kenobi's ginger hair between his fingers. His probing hand wandered around to the Padawan's back, drifting pointedly over the protruding bones of Kenobi's right shoulder blade, over the marks the Jedi knew were hidden under the white tunics.

"And how you earned each of these, little one."

The Jedi smiled hungrily, towering over Kenobi's slight form, reveling in the fear and the utter resignation reflected in Kenobi's emptying eyes before the light that brightened them went out, leaving darkness in its wake. He rubbed a thumb along Kenobi's pale cheek with a smile.

"And I think it's time you earned another, my dear Obi-Wan."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sorry if it's a little rushed – I couldn't **not** write about Obi-Wan, even if it pulls away from the 'mystery' somewhat. Please review if you can, comments feed the Muse! Thank you!


	8. VIII

For some reason, the line breaks separating story sections had been removed, rending this story a near-unintelligible jumble of words. I've reposted clean versions of all chapters.

This chapter feels a little rough and repetitious; I may go back and rewrite it later, but for now let's just get past the writer's block.

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who noted the word count and/or number of chapters and pointed out that Qui-Gon was **still** confused. Lol. I love you guys - I've said it before: this fic has the **best** readers!

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Eight

_**Nine months later…**_

Rain lashed against his common room window, the heavy patter sounding amplified as it echoed around the sparsely furnished apartment. He watched from his common room window, remembering without wanting to that he had been standing in this very same spot several months ago, raging against a Council that had demonstrated no respect for his wishes and instead assigned him an unwanted Padawan.

It had been raining then, too.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood quietly, ignoring everything but the sheets of water flailing against the large window; some raindrops following the patterns traced by their predecessors, some veering off into new tracks that those yet to come would follow. All around him clung the nauseatingly cloying scent of rotted plants mingling with musty disuse, and a thick layer of undisturbed dust covered his scattered books and datapads.

It certainly wasn't that he didn't care about the devastation surrounding him or mourn the deaths of his beloved but now decayed greenery, but he simply didn't have the will to remedy his situation. Yoda, perhaps, or even Mace would have chided him, possibly tried to help him if they had seen the state in which he currently existed, but the two Council members were rarely in the Temple these days and on the rare occasions Qui-Gon did see the small Jedi Master, he noted with some detached apprehension that Yoda grew greyer and grimmer with each passing week.

Kenobi was still missing.

The young Jedi had disappeared while on an assignment with Qui-Gon several months earlier and no trace of him had been found, not even a whisper in the Force that would guide the anxious Jedi Masters scouring the galaxy for his whereabouts. Upon Qui-Gon's return to the Temple sans Kenobi, Master Yoda had promptly relieved him of his temporary obligation to the missing Padawan and strongly ... _suggested_ ... that Qui-Gon resume his former teaching duties, which he had obligingly and readily done without looking back. While Qui-Gon had appreciated Kenobi's excellent skill as a negotiator, the Padawan had been surrounded in a shroud of confusion and incompleteness from the first, the details of his prior training sketchy and his mood often quiet and withdrawn.

He hadn't disliked Kenobi, really, but Qui-Gon couldn't say that he hadn't been relieved to relinquish heading up the search party to Yoda, whom he felt should have been in charge of the rejected Padawan from the start.

There was also the faint air, unmistakable and uncomfortable, of betrayal that had surrounded Kenobi's disappearance. A falsified comm call by Kenobi and a potentially masked hyperdrive trail leaving the area only added to the confusion of the mystery enveloping the Council's pet reclamation project.

So Qui-Gon had cheerfully returned to his old, comfortable routine, teaching at the Temple and accepting short solo assignments, all the while aware on some level of Jedi search teams leaving continually but returning dejected and empty-handed, and of the quiet mantle of veiled anxiety that had settled over the Temple while one of their own was missing.

Qui-Gon had not been asked to assist of any of the search teams, and while he would have if necessary, in truth he was somewhat relieved to be rid of the apprentice he hadn't wanted. Harsh though it sounded, Kenobi had been an unwelcome and exasperating addition to his calmly-structured routine, and Qui-Gon had, in a rarity, graciously agreed to Yoda's request that he back away from the situation and essentially pretend nothing had ever happened; that he had not, for that brief time, somewhat unwillingly tried to help a young man who had admitted, quite softly, that Qui-Gon was his last hope for achieving the Knighthood he had dreamed of his entire young life.

Qui-Gon had settled back into his busy existence easily, only occasionally troubled by flashes of exhausted grey eyes or Kenobi's quietly cultured voice. He listened to the news around the Temple and did his part by daily asking the Force to return Kenobi safely. He was calm, he was centered. He watered his plants and dusted his overflowing shelves of books and data pads.

And then at some point, the headaches started. Aching, throbbing, twisting episodes of staggering agony ripping through his skull that even the Healers hadn't been able to cure or even relieve. Crippling and agonizing, he could do little more than curl into a ball of misery and ride out of the tide - sometimes minutes, sometimes hours; all painfully, gut-clenchingly nauseating and exhausting.

Eventually, Qui-Gon stopped teaching. The Council no longer sent him into the field, putting him instead on a temporary leave until some cure could be found. His plants died. He shut out the light to keep it from blinding his eyes. He rarely left his quarters, lest he be far from the solitude of his apartment when the next headache struck.

And he no longer thought of, nor wondered what had happened to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Jedi Master frowned heavily, the anxious movement pulling his lips downward as he continued to pace feverishly back and forth, his dark boots scraping through the worn carpet with each step.

_There must be something more that can be done, _he mused anxiously, passing a weary hand over his eyes_. _He ceased pacing long enough to throw himself into a chair in a forced attempt at relaxation, but his agitation quickly got the better of him and soon he was pacing again, back and forth from the large window to the door.

_Some other method of persuasion to break the boy before he destroys himself by persisting in this ridiculous stubbornness._

He paused at the window, glancing out at the scarred landscape that surrounded the drafty stone building he had been assigned to. It was nothing like the Jedi Temple on Coruscant with its warmly decorated meditation rooms and soothing gardens; rather, the outpost was in actuality more akin to a small, ugly castle, long since abandoned by those who had resided here when the Sundari had invaded, scorching and killing as they drove through the token resistance forces that was all the besieged Garosians had been able to muster. When word of what was happening here had finally reached Coruscant, the Jedi had been dispatched to restore and maintain peace. _**He**_ had been sent.

He hated it here.

He was better than this, playing peacekeeper to those who neither wanted nor deserved his attention.

For some time, Kenobi had proven to be an adequate distraction, a way of keeping his focus on the future, but the former Padawan's continued resistance was growing tiresome as no progress was evident despite the multitude of methods employed to reshape the boy. It shouldn't have been this difficult to break one who was barely holding it together in the first place.

He watched lazily as a dead leaf detached itself from the tree outside his window, fluttering erratically toward the ground, and thought of the things he had seen and done in his long life, the people he had met and the places he had been. His teachers … his students …

He smiled easily then, the beginning of an idea occurring to him.

It seemed they hadn't yet tried **everything**…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon sat in his old chair, resting quietly in the easy solitude of its well-worn comfort. The lights were dim and his rooms were quiet; a bland if familiar monotony marked his passing days now, so much unlike the exuberance with which he had once embraced his life.

He held a datapad in his large hands but wasn't interested in reading it; he had merely picked it up as an excuse to sit down. Unexpectedly the comm started beeping, signaling an incoming message, and he wondered how long he could ignore it. Though his near-continual headache was currently merely a dull pounding, Qui-Gon wasn't certain he could find the energy to drag himself over to the comm.

After a moment he realized that the insistent chirping was actually rattling off the inside of his skull, threatening to exacerbate the minimal discomfort into another full-blown attack. This prompted him to lever his weary body from his chair and stumble toward the comm.

He settled himself gingerly in front of the screen, a trembling finger reaching out to stab the 'accept' key. He was startled to see Master Dooku's image appear - he hadn't spoken with his former master since Kenobi's disappearance.

"Master," he half-bowed in tired surprise, falling back on protocol when no other response emerged in his worn mind. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Qui-Gon," Dooku responded promptly, though Qui-Gon noticed immediately the weariness around his former master's eyes, wondered absently if he also radiated the exhaustion he felt.

Some change in Qui-Gon must have been apparent, for Dooku wasted no time inquiring after his former apprentice's health, concern pulling his brows together.

"I am ... well enough, Master," Qui-Gon replied, hedging just slightly, fighting the urge to prop his chin in his hand.

Dooku's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he nodded briskly, respecting his former apprentice's reticence. "I need your assistance, Qui-Gon," he announced without further preamble. "I know I can trust in your discretion and I ask for you to help me in this hour, Padawan."

Qui-Gon noticed Dooku's use of his former title, and a feeling of immediate indebtedness sprung to life within him; anything he could do for his master, he gladly would.

"I will do whatever I can to assist you, my Master," Qui-Gon offered quickly, all thoughts of his debilitating headaches fleeing to the back of his mind.

"Excellent." The Jedi Master looked relieved, some of the creases around his eyes lightening. "I need you to join me here as soon as you possibly can."

Qui-Gon's stomach tightened anxiously. "Leave the Temple?" he asked hesitantly, already shaking his head slowly. "I do not think I can do that, Master…" he trailed off guiltily.

Dooku's frown was frighteningly deep, sending Qui-Gon back to his days as a Padawan; Dooku had been even more creative in his punishments for wayward apprentices than Yoda, himself a master at choosing most appropriate restitution.

"Qui-Gon, you know I would not ask this of you if it were not absolutely necessary; if there are teaching obligations you cannot get out of I will gladly speak with the Council about a temporary reassignment for you."

"No, it's not that," Qui-Gon explained with a sigh. "I have … headaches … Master. They affect my everyday activities; were I to get such a headache while trying to assist you, I do not know how much use I would be."

"Qui-Gon," Dooku's tone was stern. "Do not make me ask you twice for help."

At Qui-Gon's reluctant nod, Dooku smiled warmly. "Excellent, Padawan. I shall await your arrival most eagerly."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Master watched and waited, waited for any indication that Kenobi would even regain consciousness anytime soon. It wasn't looking probable, and he reminded himself that he would need to go easier on the little bastard if he didn't want him to snap completely. If Kenobi snapped while **he** was handling him, that could be dealt with; if the former Padawan snapped while with someone ... more important … well, that would be a little more difficult to brush over.

And it would be a shame, he knew, to lose one as gifted as Kenobi. But, it was not proving easy, he reflected, trailing a long finger down Kenobi's still, wan cheek idly, to once again undo the Council's laboriously intensive training, their ridiculous notions of Dark and Light. Kenobi had been trained from the Crèche to adhere to the Light, to shun the Dark and all it represented without even giving consideration to the reality that there was so much more to the Force than pin-holing it into simplistic black and white, Dark and Light.

The Jedi would bring about their own extinction unless they adapted and encouraged their students to study the Grey areas of the Force rather than suppress it - only a fool could believe that there was _no emotion_. Only a fool would close off the opportunities available to them because they didn't fall under the simplistic definition of "Light."

But he knew.

He had discovered the secret that the Council was trying to keep.

He had found out, and sought out other Jedi who felt as he did, those who had the foresight to rebel against the current Council's blatantly ignorant deciphering of the Code. They had quietly broken free of the Council's oppression, though the Council - while they may have suspected something going on under the surface - had no proof that they were anything other than dedicated Jedi Masters.

Except for him, of course.

He had been caught when Kenobi had broken down, unexpectedly laying bare everything his Master and others had worked for. The Council had stripped him of his Padawan for a short time, trying in their prideful foolishness to bring Kenobi back into the Light.

But the Master had outmaneuvered them. He had reclaimed Kenobi from Qui-Gon and though Kenobi's re-indoctrination by the Council had set his plans back by the space of months, he worked tirelessly to retrieve the obedient Jedi Padawan he had trained and invested in.

He was close. Kenobi would be his success, his triumph, his _masterpiece._

Though Kenobi might disagree, the Jedi Master knew that Kenobi would fulfill the destiny his rightful Master and others had planned out for him long ago.

Kenobi was the prototype, the sacrificial lamb, as it were, that would emerge as the success of a new order of Jedi - wise enough to use the Force as a whole, not to try and divide its awesome and complete power into weaker halves like the fools on the Council, and not so prideful as to adhere to the Rule of Two as espoused by the Sith - how could power be maintained if there could only and always be two, a Master and an apprentice?

No, the Jedi Master was convinced that he and those with him had discovered the path to true wisdom. Once Kenobi accepted his place in the order, he too would rise to a position of power; no more need for the former Padawan to be continually under coercive methods of 'reeducation' or used as a bargaining chip with less-gentle cultures who required a little more than a signed agreement to seal an accord.

Until that time, however, if Kenobi chose in his foolishness to bring continual harsh punishment down upon himself; well, he could blame only himself. The Jedi Master now hovering over the Padawan's still body had given and continued to offer the young one ample opportunities to be free of torment and Kenobi continued to refuse though he grew weaker by the day.

Kenobi needed to cooperate; that was the bottom line.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

So hopefully you're not all too disappointed by what's actually going on, though there is, of course, more to the story ... let me know, please!


	9. IX

Sorry about the snow delay. Final chapter of Unwelcome Houseguest will be up Monday, then - get your requests in now!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Nine

A small castle was not what Qui-Gon was expecting when his vessel hunkered down into the Garosian atmosphere a few days later and yet there it was, looming dankly out the cockpit window as they drew closer. Scarred brown earth, scorched and dead, surrounded the isolated castle and Qui-Gon felt an edginess settle over him uneasily as he tensely surveyed the landscape. It bothered him a little that his Master had been assigned to a place so desolate, but he reminded himself firmly that the Jedi went wherever they were needed, despite the soul-stifling nature of the Jedi outpost.

They settled lightly into the docking bay; assigned by Dooku himself, which surprised Qui-Gon until the Jedi pilot reminded him that there were only a few Jedi stationed on Garos; medical assistance was required in far greater numbers than protectors.

Dooku himself waited on the landing platform. Qui-Gon quietly thanked the pilot and the man returned an easy smile, again declining Qui-Gon's invitation to rest on-planet for awhile.

"Sorry, Master Jedi," he explained cheerfully, "Tight schedule to keep, you know."

Qui-Gon nodded. "I understand. Safe journey, my friend, may the Force be with you." Qui-Gon collected his robe and small travel bag and waited patiently for the ramp to lower, excitement at seeing his Master again stealing over him, melting away some of the horribly tight bands of tension that had settled in his shoulders over the past several months. He realized that he should have come to see his master right after Kenobi's disappearance; Dooku had always had a wise calm about him that set Qui-Gon's mind at ease and helped him focus more clearly.

As soon as he came into view, Dooku's stern expression melted into a genuine smile as he caught sight of Qui-Gon.

"You have come, my friend,. I am so pleased to see you once again," he greeted kindly. Absent were the prior clearly-emphasized references to Qui-Gon's once inferior status as Dooku's Padawan; in its place now bloomed the convivial welcome of warm camaraderie, the renewing of a friendship long quietly dormant but immediately springing to vibrant life as the two men regarded each other affectionately.

Dooku grasped Qui-Gon's arm in delighted excitement, the relief in his voice palpable as he welcomed his old friend and former student. "I appreciate you making the journey here, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon immediately and unashamedly soaked up the overpowering feeling of intense gratitude that poured through him at being so immersed with the familial love he and Dooku had shared for many, many years. Though attachments were not the way of the Jedi, Dooku had always invested a fatherly pride into his young student that had nurtured and strengthened the Padawan, thereby allowing him, Qui-Gon had always felt, to develop a more well-defined view of the Light and Dark, a better rounding of the magnitude of the whole of the Force rather than compartmentalizing it into narrow definitions.

Borderline heresy, as far as the Council was concerned. And adding "borderline" was being generous.

Qui-Gon bowed low gingerly, conscious of the ever-present threat of debilitating headaches that would send him into an embarrassingly useless state. "Of course, my master," he replied quietly, careful to keep his voice low to avoid setting off mild implosions in his head. "I knew that I must."

Dooku gestured toward a wide set of doors at the far side of the docking bay, indicating that Qui-Gon should walk with him. Qui-Gon nodded tightly, tucking his arms into the sleeves of his long robe and followed Dooku toward the doors. Behind him, he heard the rumble of engines as the ship he had arrived in prepared to disembark.

Dooku stopped suddenly as the bay door's closed behind them, turning to Qui-Gon with eyes narrowed as he surveyed the other Master. "Something is wrong," he declared firmly, piercing gaze darting swiftly over his former apprentice. "What is it, Qui-Gon? Is it the Council? Did they give you grief for coming to assist me?"

"No, Master," Qui-Gon murmured wearily, admitting to himself that although he hated to show frailty in front of his Master, there was no way he could hide his weakened condition from the perceptive Jedi. "I barely see the Council at all any more; seldom enough certainly to get on their nerves too much these days."

"And yet there is something off with you." The older Jedi's brow furrowed. "The headaches you mentioned, is that what is causing you so much distress?"

"I am not … able to handle them very well, my Master," Qui-Gon admitted, ashamed of his weakness, wondering if it sounded like he was somehow devalued by the Living Force to not be able to seek relief there.

"Perhaps I may be able to help you," Dooku offered warmly, gently closing a hand around Qui-Gon's elbow. The touch of his former Master helped to ground Qui-Gon and he felt himself calming a little, drifting into a more relaxed state of mind.

"Thank you, Master Dooku," he murmured quietly. His tired eyes were drifting closed as his thoughts calmed and he stumbled a bit, weariness washing over him,

"Do you need to rest?" Dooku questioned, concern creasing his high forehead. "I have prepared a room for you."

Qui-Gon waved him off. "I will rest soon enough," he assured, massaging the humped bridge of his noise lightly. "For now, I would prefer to speak with you about your concerns. Why did you ask me here? You needed my help with something?"

"Tomorrow will be soon enough to discuss my cares, Qui-Gon," Dooku returned reassuringly. "I would prefer your complete and _**unhindered**_ attention," he pressed firmly, "Not a partial paying mind because you're exhausted and need to rest. For now, let us spend our time catching up; it has been long since I've had any non-Council news from the Temple."

Qui-Gon felt a smile stretch across his face. "Then I'm sure you have no idea what is actually going on."

Dooku laughed, his hand still on Qui-Gon's arm as they walked the long, airy hallway. Qui-Gon noticed the worn-down look to the artwork lining the walls, the slight fraying of the occasional chair they passed, but there was still an overall comfort that emanated throughout the interior of the small castle despite the dead horror of the scarred earth right outside.

"That's one of the many things I appreciate about you, Qui-Gon; you see things the way they truly are."

"Well, you taught me well," Qui-Gon replied with a mirroring smile.

"Yoda never did see eye to eye with us, did he?" Dooku reminisced gently, guiding Qui-Gon past a multitude of doors bordered with elegant yet faded tapestries.

"Still doesn't," Qui-Gon pointed out. Dooku opened a door on their right that led into a small sitting room. Evening shadows danced in the dark corners and Qui-Gon appreciated the dim lighting, hoping it would help keep his headaches at bay.

"I cannot understand why some choose to be so willfully blind," Dooku sighed, moving to busy himself at a table already laden with light refreshments in preparation for Qui-Gon's arrival, "when there is so much freedom in accepting the whole of the Force." He glanced at Qui-Gon. "Tea or kaffe?"

"Tea, thank you." Qui-Gon shrugged, returning to their prior conversation, "It's comfortable," he suggested. "Being narrowly-minded brings in itself a simple peace that is not as easily attained when you have so much freedom to think at your disposal. There's luxury in the familiar, a certain contentment to being set in one's ways, as it were." He accepted the warm mug of tea Dooku offered with a nod of thanks. "The Council hasn't bothered to stretch their minds or even try to think outside their comfort zone, and it has dulled their thinking."

Dooku smiled at Qui-Gon over his tea. "When did you get so wise, Qui-Gon Jinn?" he questioned proudly, his dark eyes shining. "Your own view of the Force is so well-formed, it is a wonder _**you**_ are not on the Council."

Qui-Gon laughed shortly. "Our views are not popular with the Council, Master. You know that as well as I do. And I have other responsibilities in the field and at the Temple, as well."

"Ah," Dooku nodded sagely. "Of course. But you realize the Council falters without the benefit of our wisdom." He surveyed Qui-Gon, interest plain on his face. "Have they assigned you a Padawan yet?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Force, no. Between Kenobi disappearing and these damned headaches, I have no desire to train another Padawan. I didn't even want Kenobi," he confided with a sigh. "I was so happy with my old routine."

"Luxury in the familiar?" Dooku proffered his own words back at him with a smile.

"Indeed," Qui-Gon agreed with a rueful smile. He picked absently at the arm of the couch he sat upon, his thoughts drifted back to the missing Padawan. "He had … promise." Qui-Gon glanced up at his former Master, regret heavy in his eyes. "But too much baggage. Too many unanswered questions about his prior training. The Council sealed his records and refused to tell me anything. They wanted me to train him _**without **_training him," he growled in irritation, barely buried frustrations rising easily to the fore as he remembered his attempts to work with Kenobi.

"And what of young Kenobi now?" Dooku questioned, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee, eager anticipation simmering in his dark eyes. "Any news there?"

"None that I am aware, though the Council searches for him continually," Qui-Gon returned, trying to will his aggravation away. He could feel a headache slowly beginning to build … he shouldn't have thought of Kenobi …

An eyebrow lifted as Dooku cocked his head curiously. "Still? It seems almost like a waste of resources."

"The Council makes their own rules," Qui-Gon answered shortly. "I do not pretend to know why Kenobi is so important to them." _Because they wouldn't tell me,_ he thought testily, annoyed at how easily his calm had been disrupted by thoughts of Kenobi and the Council.

"Do you think Kenobi could have ever been a Jedi?" Dooku asked curiously. "Based on your observations."

Qui-Gon didn't even have to think about it; it was a question he had asked himself since the first day Kenobi had stepped into his apartments. "No," he said honestly. "I don't." At Dooku's encouraging look, he continued, "He lacked focus," Qui-Gon sighed. "I didn't see that he even _**wanted**_ to be a Jedi. His skills were too rudimentary for his age and level and his grasp of the Force was shaky at best."

"That's a pretty harsh assessment," Dooku murmured, leaning back in his chair and settling one booted ankle over his knee. "Was there more?"

"There was … one other thing," Qui-Gon admitted reluctantly, hating to even voice aloud his misgiving but it was digging under his skin, begging to be said; the disturbing suspicion that he had harbored about the Council's pet project...

"I think … I think that Padawan Kenobi had been tainted by Dark. There were things he said, things he did, that were off."

Dooku drew back, a hint of a satisfied smile on his face that confused Qui-Gon a little. "Your assessment concurs with my own limited observations," he explained smugly. "Did I not tell you that Kenobi was not be trusted? He may have blinded the Council into giving him another chance, but your perceptive nature has sent him scurrying back to the Darkness where he belongs. He abandoned _**you**_, Qui-Gon, left _**you**_ to die after setting up that fake distress call."

Pieces were clicking into place in Qui-Gon's brain at Dooku's words, the puzzle fitting together neatly as clarity showed the Jedi Master where the edges fit together. _**He**_ had seen what the Council had not: that Obi-Wan Kenobi was dangerous.

Another piece snapped into place. "Wait … " he murmured slowly. "I think the Council _**does **_see now … " It made sense: the search teams continually sent from the Temple, Yoda's unwavering determination to find Kenobi. "They're tracking him down," he murmured. "They know he's dangerous … "

"They're tracking him down," Qui-Gon repeated slowly, comprehension dawning, "to kill him."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dooku leaned back in his chair, fighting to keep the elation from showing clearly on his face. He couldn't have _**begged**_ for a better conversation with Qui-Gon - he had more than enough, he felt, to finally break the boy's insolence. He thumbed the small recording device in his robe pocket and tried to create an excuse to leave immediately.

"Enough talk of these unhappy matters for now. You look so weary, Qui-Gon," he soothed gently. "Let me take you to your room for the night."

Qui-Gon looked troubled, his revelation about the Council clearly bothering him. Dooku himself that doubted Yoda had any plans to eliminate Kenobi, but if Qui-Gon believed it, all the better. "Are you certain, Master Dooku?" he asked hesitantly. "I can of course stay; I am eager to assist you in whatever you require."

"Qui-Gon," Dooku said kindly, "Your resilience does you credit but I can see your exhaustion." He smiled, a gentle, fatherly smile. "Just having you here helps; for tonight, you have done enough already."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Satisfied, Dooku clicked off the recording, eyebrow raised as he considered the young man sprawled at his feet.

"Do you see?" he asked, stroking Kenobi's rigid bicep absently, little crackles of electricity dancing across his fingertips that slipped into Kenobi's skin just enough to sting. "No one cares. No one needs you. Your Council hunts you. Qui-Gon Jinn despises you," he paused, his warm breath batting against Kenobi's sunken cheek. "No one has a use for you but us." He smiled, inching closer to victory, he was so close… "You cannot go back. There is only forward, young one. Shall I play it again?" He did so, a grimly determined smile sliding across his face as he watched the effect Qui-Gon's words had on Kenobi … so close to breaking …

_I didn't even want Kenobi …_

_I do not pretend to know why Kenobi is so important to them …_

_I didn't see that he even __**wanted**__ to be a Jedi …_

_His grasp of the Force was shaky at best …_

"Please … no more …"

The plaintive words were barely a whisper, softly uttered behind the weak batting of a blood-spattered hand as it passed across closed eyelids.

He stared down at the miserable creature curled on the floor and wanted to feel anger, outrage even at the boy's reticence that **made** perpetrating such savagery necessary, but instead unexpected pity moved quietly across his soul, tightening his throat in its gently merciless grasp.

"You have done this yourself, young one," Dooku murmured quietly, trying to brush away the humming of the Force's warning in his ears. "He asks so little of you yet you still resist."

Kenobi's haunted eyes drifted open, a ghostly flicker of spiteful incredulity cresting across his washed-out face as he gestured toward his battered body with a tired hand. "**I** have done this myself?" he questioned tiredly, impudence dripping from every word.

Dooku frowned. To see such resistance in one so pathetic was … irritating. "Your sarcasm doesn't help you, boy," he retorted.

"It's done more for me than you have," was Kenobi's quiet comment, his sudden burst of life fading away as quickly as it had come as he slumped back against the permacrete wearily.

"It is your damned pride," Dooku announced haughtily, his feet moving to pace before his brain caught up with him, agitation working its way under his collar. It was easy to see why Kenobi's Master lost patience with him so easily. "I can do nothing for you until you let go of your pride and let us help you."

Kenobi choked at his words. "I don't think it's **my** pride that's the issue here," he spat coldly, eyeing daggers upwards at Dooku.

Ironically, it appeared at that moment that Dooku was closer to snapping than Kenobi; the Master knelt swiftly beside Kenobi, unexpected darkness flowing across his mind, guiding his movements as he clutched the slender, marked shoulders and slammed the startled young apprentice hard against the permacrete floor, snapping Kenobi's head into the coldly unforgiving stone. Kenobi choked and gasped, spitting blood from a freshly split lip as he struggled ineffectually against Dooku's Force-assisted strength.

"You **will** give in," Dooku hissed, forearm pressing against Kenobi's throat as he leaned over the Padawan, his vindictive whisper stirring the short hair over Kenobi's ear. "We **will** have our legacy!"

"You're a… monster…" Kenobi wheezed, his struggles weakening, his grey eyes darkening almost to black as he glared at Dooku. "Just … like him."

Fighting to regain his control, Dooku pushed himself away from the Jedi and back to his feet as he returned the icy glare, any pity he had felt earlier for the young man mercilessly crushed under the weight of his loathing - for Kenobi and for himself. He grabbed a stim shot from the table nearby and pressed it to Kenobi's neck, flooding the young man's system with enough stimulants to keep him awake for several more hours- sleep deprivation had so far been the best way to get a rise out of the little bastard and Dooku angrily slapped the empty hypo back on the table. He didn't even know how long Kenobi had been awake already, and he didn't care. His talk with Qui-Gon had even encouraged in him the tiny glimmer of hope that perhaps Qui-Gon could be **his** apprentice once again and Kenobi and his stubbornness be damned.

One last look into Kenobi's hollow, haunted eyes, the dark shadows in them so pronounced Dooku knew it had been a day or more since the Padawan had slept. He didn't care. Kenobi twitched and spasmed, and scowled hatefully at Dooku. Pointedly, Dooku flicked the recorder on once again, setting the playback on repeat. Qui-Gon Jinn's powerful voice filled the small room, echoing off the walls. There was no escape, no respite from the punishing words.

_I think that Padawan Kenobi had been tainted by Dark … _said clearly Kenobi's last hope for redemption.

"Then you had better give in," Dooku advised coldly, "or hope that you die quickly."


	10. X

This chapter turned out to be quite long so I've split it in half and will post the chapters as ten and eleven. I'm posting ten this morning, and eleven will be posted as soon as this fic gets _**1,000 reviews**_, so leave a review if you ever want to see what happens to our beleaguered heroes in this sad tale of Confused Qui-Gon and Shadowy Obi-Wan.

Nah, I'm kidding. I just have to finish editing chapter 11.

* * *

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Ten

"Yes … I understand that your meaningless platitudes perhaps mean something to _**you**_, but to me they are little more than pointless drivel designed to defer from my original inquiry. However, my question to you, _old friend_, remains the same, and I hope you will do me the simple courtesy of appeasing my curiosity by answering truthfully: … _**why**_ is he here? What possible good could it serve to bring him here now?"

The words were spoken so gently, so innocently inquisitively, that they immediately set Dooku's nerves on edge: a harsh and grating vibe that twisted around his spine and pooled in his stomach leadenly; a cold, relentless clenching that he struggled to ignore, and to keep his normally mellifluous voice steady.

"I believe that Qui-Gon Jinn will unknowingly assist us in breaking Kenobi's obstinacy," he said calmly. Dooku knew that he needed to be extremely cautious in his answer; if the other man - at one time a Jedi Master like himself, now humiliatingly stripped of his former rank by the Council - even suspected a hint of betrayal from his co-conspirator, he would certainly not err on the side of mercy, and retribution would be swift and painful.

"Indeed," he added soothingly, careful to keep any smugness from his tone, "the process has already been started and Kenobi's stubborn defenses are weakening far faster than with … previous methods."

Dooku allowed a little bit of deserved pride to seep into his final words but colored his tone so it sounded more excited than superior; at all costs he had to stay on the other man's 'good' side - pitiful offering that it was. He had seen what Rhagos was capable of doing to those he felt were against him; the evidence of that was grotesquely displayed in the shuddering, shattered husk of the young man imprisoned on the floor below.

Dooku patiently and without regret brushed aside the minor damage he himself had inflicted on the Padawan. His own methods were excruciatingly docile compared to the rather heavy-handed approach of his fellow "Master." Though Rhagos had indeed been officially relieved of his status by the ridiculously presumptuous members of the current Jedi Council, it was difficult for Dooku to think of him without that rank; partially because they had long been friends even within the confines of the Order, and partially because Rhagos demanded use of title. Any sign of disrespect, even flippantly or from an old friend, was likely to end in banishment to the basement alongside Rhagos' former Padawan, now reunited to him by carefully and meticulously executed planning.

But joining Kenobi in the musty dankness below his feet wasn't how Dooku planned for his own story to end. He himself was far wiser and subtler than the imprisoned Padawan, and could easily evade Rhagos' pedantic attempts to trap him into revealing more than he wished.

Though it was laughably beneath him, Dooku slid a cloak of virtuous enthusiasm over his words, quietly and painlessly brushing aside an errant, fading memory from many years ago of a young Initiate in one of his classes - a boy for whom Yoda held high hopes - with bright grey eyes and a ready grin, chattering excitedly in his ear about being chosen for training and wasn't his teacher pleased for him now that he was going to be a Jedi someday? Dooku looked steadily into the eyes of the Master assigned to that happy little Initiate - innocence now long gone - and said calmly,

"I believe Kenobi will submit within days, thanks to Qui-Gon's assistance, and _**that**_ is why I have brought him here, Master Rhagos. According to my reports, Qui-Gon was nearly able to get through to Kenobi on Agamar, and you know as well as I that once we are able to break through the walls Yoda helped Kenobi construct, our victory is within our reach."

He didn't expect the short, mocking chuckle that clearly conveyed the other man's derision, and it burned under his skin with a prickle of humiliation. He didn't like the feeling.

"'Our victory is within our reach?'" Rhagos snorted. "You sound so melodramatic, Dooku." Rhagos' eyes narrowed, his glare darkening as his mood shifted ominously. "I alone am perfectly capable of bringing my apprentice back to the Truth," he murmured, the warning abundantly clear in the anger vibrating in his newly unsteady voice. "I do not require your help, let alone the pathetic assistance your former apprentice." Rhagos' thin lips curled into a derisive sneer. "I have seen what Jinn is made of and I am not impressed."

Immediately offended by the clear insult to the years of training he had invested into his former apprentice, Dooku uttered coldly, "_**Your**_ archaic methods of persuasion will only succeed in robbing you of the boy - you're not 'breaking' his will as you fancy yourself to be doing … you're killing him by centimeters. How many apprentices do you intend to go through before you realize there could be another way?"

Icy hatred solidified on Rhagos' expression and it unnerved Dooku; he knew he was on treacherous footing but he stood his ground, his own anger aroused as he hissed, "What good will Kenobi be to you here if you destroy his mind _**and**_ his body? He would have been of more use to us back on Coruscant, spying on the Council."

When he spoke, the other man's voice was quietly dangerous as he asked softly, slowly purposefully, "Are you questioning my methods, Master Dooku?" The message was clear: _Proceed, and you are lost. _

He wasn't willing to jeopardize everything he was already sacrificing to win a battle of words with a thickheaded opponent who would never cede victory. Immediately sliding into damage-control mode, Dooku held up a placating hand, swallowing the bitter bile of retreat, assuring himself it was temporary, for the greater good. It might have been easier to accept if he hadn't already retreated under Rhagos' mulish attempts at logic - really just poorly veiled threats - so many times already.

"I am merely saying," he stated calmly, smoothly persuasive, "that perhaps Kenobi is proving more amenable to alternate methods of coercion and that is why I have brought Qui-Gon here. As I have already mentioned, Kenobi appears to be responding well, even at this early stage."

A disdainful bark of spiteful laughter was the reply Dooku received, and again it rankled him just how lowly the other man considered him to be.

"I am not the fool you count me as, my friend," were the words sent back at him, disquieting because of the softness with which they were spoken. Dooku struggled to keep his expression calm, but an undercurrent of apprehension slowly snaked its way through his veins, twining around his already discordant nerves like ice sliding beneath his skin and raising unpleasant chills across his flesh. "Know this," Rhagos murmured warningly, "your actions have only served to put Jinn in a dangerous position. If he does not accept your offer, he will have to be eliminated."

"My offer?" Dooku questioned, striving to sound innocuous but already dread was settling in that somehow Rhagos had guessed his true intention for summoning Qui-Gon: that Dooku's old Padawan would accept the Truth while here and again consent to be his apprentice … eager to learn a new, balanced way of seeing the Force, the glorious melding of all aspects of the Force and the power available within that perfect union.

Dooku inclined his head; though it appeared outwardly a gesture of respect, it was performed only to keep the other man from seeing the tightness that stretched Dooku's proud features into a hateful mask, his anger bitterly accentuated by the new and acridly unwelcome tang of fear he now felt. When he lifted his head, however, calm reassurance had gentled his sneering lips into a pleasant smile, softened his burning eyes into the eager gaze of a trusted friend ready to help, always willing to heed the counsel of a wiser man.

"You have nothing to fear, my old friend," he smiled pleasantly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon Jinn awoke slowly, the first creeping rays of sunlight stealing across his window, gently teasing his tired eyelids open and encouraging him to wake more fully and greet the oncoming day. He wanted to, he did, and even really felt like he _should_, but … he was really, really comfortable, frankly; even his ever-present headache had faded to only a quiet murmur in his mind, a halfhearted plea for attention that even now drifted deeper into the background of his awareness.

It could be that perhaps he had just needed to rest, to take his mind off his headaches and the Council, and the overpowering headache that _**was**_ the Council (he smiled to himself at that, it amused him for some reason so he filed it away for later use.) And Kenobi.

He wished he could take his mind off of the missing Padawan, though here on Garos in the quiet of the Jedi outpost he could speak candidly with Master Dooku about the thoughts that had crossed his mind, his fears and worries, his bewilderment about the entire mess Kenobi had been at the center of. The gruesome revelation he'd had last night about Kenobi being hunted by the Council still haunted the corners of his mind though he tried mightily to push it aside. He was _**finished**_ with the errant Padawan and determined that Kenobi would trouble his thoughts no longer - after all, what could _**he**_ do if Kenobi had chosen the Dark Side? Nothing. He had barely managed to pull his last Padawan back into the Light.

And he couldn't help Kenobi without a training bond at his disposal - a full, proper Bond, not the meager link they'd unconsciously established over a few fleeting moments of shared amusement… of working together so perfectly in sync on Agamar … the link that he himself had strengthened when he had quietly soothed Kenobi's Signature while the young man cried himself to sleep.

No. He would not be involved. The cost was too high. Yoda could find Kenobi and deal with him in the manner the old Jedi saw fit. In fact, Yoda himself had said it best: it was better if the association between he and Kenobi ended. Qui-Gon knew he needed to stop dwelling on the past, needed to expunge Kenobi from his thoughts and move on. Master Dooku needed his help now, for whatever reason.

So why couldn't he put Kenobi completely away? Why did the lost Padawan refuse to leave that little dark corner of his mind Qui-Gon couldn't quite clean out?

And why was he sitting here rehashing thoughts he'd been over a hundred times when he should be locating Dooku?

Qui-Gon covered a reluctant yawn with the back of his hand and wished he could settle back into the warm lull of sleep, but it was no use, the comfortable feeling slowly fading as bright sunbeams stole across his coverlet, warm and gentle on both his large hands as they splayed across his chest and also the ravaged, dead landscape right outside his window.

_The just and the unjust alike,_ he thought absently. _The sun shines on both. The living -_ his glance flicked out the window to the shattered remains of a once vibrant grassland, the ground still crying into the Living Force of the horrors it had seen and endured; razed, blackened, irreparably ruined, no greenery would grow there again, nothing to sustain or nourish life …

_And the dead,_ he finished sadly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was no sign of Master Dooku as Qui-Gon made his way back toward the main room - no indication that anyone else was even here, really, other than the bored-looking docking bay tech he'd encountered the previous day. This didn't surprise him, though; Dooku had mentioned that the Jedi Healers assigned here stayed in the villages with the wounded while one or two other Jedi - like Dooku - remained at the outpost with the majority of supplies and monitored the overall progress of the rebuilding efforts. The Jedi had similar operations set up all on many worlds and Qui-Gon had assisted in several himself, usually with the aid of his current Padawan.

Qui-Gon expertly tied off the thin strip of leather binding his damp hair out of his eyes. He had possibly just taken the most relaxing shower he could ever recall, and his weary body felt warm and pleasantly heavy, sleepy drowsiness already beginning to creep back around the edges of his mind.

Qui-Gon glanced down the hallway. The old stone castle, though time and the savage Sundari occupation had stolen much of its grandeur, still had remnants of the majesty it had possessed before this Garosian continent had become so much a wasteland. Qui-Gon absently fingered a dusty tapestry hanging crookedly within arm's reach, his light touch raising small clouds of dust that made him cough and step back hastily.

Curiosity getting the better of him - and he _**was**_ looking for Master Dooku after all - Qui-Gon wandered the halls, inquisitively peering into open doorways leading into darkened rooms, trying to get a feel for the structure the Jedi had been offered as a base of operations while they helped the struggling Garosians rebuild in whatever ways they could. Most of the rooms contained crates bearing the mark of the Jedi Order and symbols denoting that emergency food and medical supplies were contained therein. Some crates contained building materials, others seeds and gardening tools that would be utilized if sufficient fertile ground could be found.

His meandering travels eventually brought him to a set of stone steps; thin stone slabs leading up and down. His exploration of the ground level rooms nearly complete, on a whim Qui-Gon chose the downward sloping stairs. His slow steps brought him cautiously to the bottom of the landing and he blinked quickly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the glow rods sunk deeply in the walls, their muted light casting flickering shadows across the floor. Unsure why he felt compelled to continue his exploration, Qui-Gon moved farther down the hall … there wasn't much down here apart from a few closed doors and another pile of unopened supply crates stacked neatly against the far wall.

He'd never been much for resisting curiosity. Qui-Gon pressed the panel beside the first door and it slid open soundlessly, revealing a darkened room containing more crates from the Temple, nothing he hadn't already seen multiple times elsewhere.

He backed out of the room and moved on to the second door, examining it inquisitively. There was something … unusual … about this door, a faint glowing around the perimeter that signified some type of energy field in place. _It could be that the building's generator is housed in here_, he mused, lifting a hand and gently tapping the panel to open the door.

A surprised shout shattered the stillness.

"Padawan!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dooku paced restlessly, his agitation increasing with each step, each scrape of his scuffed and well-worn boots across the cold stone floor. His talk this morning with Rhagos had left him most unhappy and anxious, and he was scrambling to calm his nervousness before seeking out Qui-Gon. He needed to appear completely in control, even if that was the last thing he was feeling.

Nerves weren't something that troubled him often, but the pressure currently crowding his throat with worry was nearly unbearable, unhinging his normally unflappable emotions just enough for his edge of calm to disappear beneath rising waves of tight apprehension.

They were close, _**so**_ close, and yet the tightly woven threads of their master plan were beginning to fray at the edges, threatening to unravel and send his dream into oblivion. He would lose Qui-Gon completely and the Council would most certainly find out what he and Rhagos had undertaken to do on Garos, and what then? He was already exiled to this hellhole, what more would they do to him?

Rhagos was slated to return to Garos by midweek and Dooku knew that once the other man arrived, Qui-Gon's time would be up. But he also knew he was close to breaking through with Qui-Gon: he had responded so well to Dooku's expertly manipulative questions the night before that Dooku's exhilarated anticipation had increased exponentially and he knew that success was near.

It was time to talk with Qui-Gon.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Padawan!"

Qui-Gon turned his head reflexively at the startled shout from his former master, his fingers still hovering guiltily on the door panel. He dropped his hand quickly, a little rueful that he could still be made to feel like such a shamefaced teenager around his old master, and turned fully to face Dooku, noting uneasily the vague rumbles of an oncoming headache stirring at the back of his neck. He supposed the absence of a headache wouldn't have lasted much longer, but it had been a faint, almost unrecognized hope lingering at the back of his mind since he had woken up this morning without any pain.

He tucked his hands against his sides, dropping into a short, perfunctory bow. "Master Dooku. Good morning."

"Padawan … Qui-Gon … what are you doing down here?" Dooku questioned curiously, a friendly smile stretching across his strained expression. Qui-Gon immediately noticed and worried; his Master looked exhausted this morning, tight lines further wrinkling the creased skin by his eyes, which themselves were dull and tense.

Qui-Gon shrugged easily, hands still comfortably ensconced in his robe. "Looking around." He inclined his head toward the door he'd tried to open before being interrupted by Dooku; _access denied_ blinked across the panel in small, bright letters. "What is in here?"

Dooku shook his head, gesturing for Qui-Gon to precede him back up the shallow stairs. "Nothing important. Unsalvageable refuse." He smiled again, none of the tension leaving his expression, his tone as taut as the crack of a whip. "Come, let us have breakfast. We have much to discuss."

Qui-Gon obediently brushed past his master, glad to be getting to the reason he'd been summoned here. He hadn't notified the Council members when he had left for Garos - how could he, when they were scattered across the galaxy looking for Kenobi? But now he felt that he should at least send Yoda a message to notify him before the old Jedi started to worry.

They reached the room where they had spoken at length the previous evening and Qui-Gon was pleased to see small platters of imported fresh fruits laid out appealingly alongside a steaming kettle of tea.

"Now, Qui-Gon, we must speak of an important matter."

Qui-Gon nodded as he filled a mug with tea, holding the steaming beverage close to his nose and gratefully inhaling its warm scent. "I only hope I am able to provide adequate assistance, my Master," he murmured, settling carefully across from Dooku.

Dooku nodded. "As I also hope, Qui-Gon. And now, I must ask for your patience, that you listen with an open heart and an open mind while I speak. When I am finished, we can then discuss any questions you may have."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Again, sorry if the chap seems incomplete, but the entire chapter was at least twice this long and would have possibly taken an entire day to read. Please review anyway, if you'd be so kind, and I'll get chapter eleven up here shortly. I reeeeally want to get to chapter twelve where Shadowy Obi-Wan turns into Crazy Obi-Wan, but this story has to get _**5,000 reviews**_ … hehe. Sorry. Too much coffee this morning. ;-)


	11. XI

Okay, so I see we've fallen _**far short**_ of the 1,000 reviews demanded before an update, but I finished editing and I figure we're just on the **_way_** to 1,000, so here goes! Can you believe chapter 12 will be posted on Friday? No, me neither. lol.

Thank you to everyone who has read this fic, and especially to those who took a minute to review! If my internet access weren't so limited I would reply to each review but since I can barely get online long enough to even post a chapter, I beg your forgiveness for this rudeness on my part. :( Please accept as my humble offering of gratitude the following chapter.

Again, this is part two, really, of chapter ten so if it seems like half a chapter, well, it is. ;)

* * *

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Eleven

A little uneasy, Qui-Gon dipped his head in acquiescence and sipped at his tea slowly, his ice blue eyes fixed on the other man. Dooku cleared his throat dramatically and began his well-rehearsed presentation.

"You and I, Qui-Gon," he began boldly, "have long discussed the need for more openness from the Council, more freedom in the way Jedi - and other Force users - are encouraged to seek out and use the Force. But the Council has ignored our pleas and remained stubborn, narrow-minded, and those who should have stepped down long ago to allow fresh minds a chance to interpret the Code have stubbornly clung to their positions, thereby locking in this clearly antiquated thinking for yet another generation of young Jedi to fall prey to."

As he listened to his former master, Qui-Gon noted that his own hands had begun to tremble, either from the burgeoning threads of his returning headache, or the slow realization of where Dooku couldn't possibly be going but his mellifluous words kept leading. Qui-Gon focused sternly on keeping his tea from sloshing out of the delicate cup clenched in his large fist as stinging bands of tension crept across his front of his skull, winding their way towards his temples, wrinkling the edges of his eyes tautly.

Perhaps Dooku didn't know what he was saying. The words needed to stop. "Master, I - " he began slowly, but Dooku silenced him firmly.

"I asked you to listen, Qui-Gon, and expect you to allow one you owe much to at least that simple courtesy. Do not tell me I overestimated you?"

From long years of experience, Qui-Gon realized it would be better to simply weather the stormy confusion roiling in his gut and allow Master Dooku to finish. "No, Master, I apologize. Please continue," he smiled weakly, trying to sound reassuring and confident.

Dooku nodded in satisfaction, hurts assuaged, and resumed his narrative without missing a step. "As I said, those who could have allowed new ways of thought in have outright refused to do so, instead clinging to divisive philosophies that have split Force-users needlessly for centuries." He paused for effect, his dark eyes burning with excitement and pride. "But now, Qui-Gon," he continued airily, I can tell you that a select few of us have been blessed by the Force with enlightenment, shown a new way of seeing the Force that is _**not**_ divisive, that opens _**all**_ aspects of the Force to use. A way that denies none, and welcomes all."

The words sounded suspicious to Qui-Gon but also, he couldn't refute, like the unexpected and gratifying granting of a wish long and quietly held in secret. He himself had gotten into many harsh arguments with the Council as the years passed over things both trivial and huge, things that shouldn't have been an issue but somehow _**were**_. A little breathing room wasn't necessarily bad thing, was it?

But how deeply did this proposed union run? Was Dooku really referring to a blending of _**both**_ sides of the Force?

He realized that he had uttered the question aloud when Dooku leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, easily slipping into the role that was second nature to him: the learned teacher, ready to explain to the lost and naïve student the correct way of things.

"My dear Qui-Gon," he said with a smile, "What I am proposing is a blending of _**all**_ sides of the Force."

He was set to elaborate when the door slid open and Dooku turned expectantly, a little harshly but his irritated expression immediately disappeared, rippling into calm and an unexpected hint of deferential eagerness. Seeing this, Qui-Gon glanced over at the newcomer: a tall man dressed in Jedi robes, though his rough-cut, bearded features and dark hair were oddly unfamiliar to Qui-Gon. But he _**had**_ been spending most of his time in his rooms at the Temple lately, sidelined by headaches; it _**was**_ conceivable that he wouldn't know all of the Jedi Masters currently in the Order.

"Master Rhagos," Dooku interjected smoothly, politely. "I wasn't expecting you for several days yet. What brings you back so soon? More supplies for us?"

Rhagos smiled pleasantly, inclining his head in greeting. When he spoke, his deep voice was warmly pleasant. "Hello to you too, my friend. I am sorry to interrupt, but I find myself in urgent need of my Padawan's particular skills so I've come back to retrieve him." His gaze met Dooku's unblinkingly as he added, "I will return tonight to wrap up outstanding business you and I have."

Dooku nodded, swallowing against the press of nerves tightening his throat, very clearly reading the intent of the other man's words. Rhagos nodded perfunctorily at Qui-Gon then backed out of the room with a last, measuring glance at Dooku. As the door slid closed, Dooku rose from his chair, unable to keep from shivering. It didn't surprise him that Qui-Gon hadn't sensed the true nature of the other Master - after all, Rhagos had once been able to deceive the entire Council into assigning him a Padawan - but because Dooku _**did**_ know, he could pick up on it as easily as he could read Qui-Gon's uncertainty now.

He had little time, but he already knew what he needed to do. He and Qui-Gon needed to leave while Rhagos and his unfortunate Padawan were occupied outside the outpost - though he felt that he and Qui-Gon could possibly take Rhagos, he knew that against Rhagos _**and**_ Kenobi they would stand little chance. Dooku could take Qui-Gon as his own apprentice as he had planned and abandon Kenobi to Rhagos; it was too late for the boy now in any case, for if he didn't turn very soon Dooku would be surprised if the Padawan lived through the night.

Dooku gentled his voice, pulling out a warm, agreeable tone that had always worked very well with Qui-Gon, smugly grateful to the Jedi Council for all they had done over the years to tirelessly crush Qui-Gon's innate streak of opinionated independence: it made it so much simpler to appeal to someone who was not used to having anyone agree with him.

"Qui-Gon," he murmured gently, "I know that you have long felt as I have that there is a better way to utilize the Force than we have been taught, a way that more Force sensitives could receive instruction rather than condemnation. How many times, Qui-Gon, has your gentle heart ached for yet another devastated Initiate shipped off to an agri-planet to grow food to feed a Council that couldn't even be bothered to find a Master for them?" Dooku had rehearsed the words so often he felt a bright thrill of pride rush through him as they slid seamlessly from his tongue. He continued softly, "How many times have you yourself chafed under needless restrictions imposed by out-of-touch Masters who have let their power go to their heads?"

Dooku leaned forward to rest a hand on Qui-Gon's knee, achingly sympathetic, as compassionate and warm as a sympathetic father to a heartsick son. "And for those Masters such as yourself, my dear Qui-Gon, who have lost or _**almost**_ lost a beloved Padawan to the … 'Dark' … What if that pain could be avoided, Qui-Gon?" Dooku's rich voice was by now so soft that it barely reached Qui-Gon's ears, but the Jedi Master knew that every word he uttered was hitting home with his former Padawan. "What if we didn't isolate those who simply look to use _**all**_ aspects of the Force? Qui-Gon … " and Qui-Gon Jinn glanced up at him, tears blinking in his ice eyes as Dooku's words brought to the fore pain he had long tried to hide away: the struggle, heartache, night after night asking the Living Force _why?_ - begging, pleading for his young apprentice who was so tempted by the Dark … "My dear Qui-Gon," Dooku crooned tenderly, "If we can spare so much pain, for our precious little ones and for ourselves, should we not?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon blinked heavily, eyes awash in sorrow as fresh waves of pain crested through his heart as his treacherous mind fell to the lull of Dooku's words, throwing memories at him, so many, many memories of distraught Initiates who _**hadn't**_ been chosen by a master, and Force-sensitives seeking desperately to learn who had been rejected by the Council for the most mundane of reasons … face after face he'd not been able to forget, their sorrow leaving an imprint on his memories he couldn't get away from … and his own Padawan, barely escaping censure from that same Council for only wanting to learn more about _**all **_of the Force …

Qui-Gon forced himself to speak beyond the tightness in his throat, reaching for something to break past the images binding him to accept his old master's words, something to delay the acquiescence he knew Dooku was looking for, the acceptance that might even be on the tip of his tongue …

A bright starburst of agony flashed across his mind, shredding the memories assaulting him before it faded back into the background, the headache he had been ignoring now bright and present. For the first time, he actually _**welcomed**_ its existence, sharpening his focus enough that he could bring himself to question slowly,

"Why has the Council not found you out? How do they not know where your thoughts are leading?"

Dooku snorted, moving back, his warm hand leaving its comforting presence on Qui-Gon's knee as pride seeped into his voice, coloring with shades of disdain. "Please, Qui-Gon. The Council is interested in little more than themselves - how else do you explain the constant navel-gazing? The isolating _**leash**_ they fight to keep on other Jedi's perception of the Force? No, Qui-Gon," he shook his head ruefully, "a new Order must rise if the Jedi are to even survive - and I want _**you**_ to join me in the vanguard."

Stunned by the final revelation his mind had insisted was coming, Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. He needed time to process, to either accept or push away the shards of truth contained in Dooku's proposal. "I do not know if I can agree to that, Master. It is so much to consider."

"Can you not, Qui-Gon?" Dooku arched an eyebrow smoothly, surprised, perhaps, at his former student's reticence. "I will admit that I am somewhat disappointed, Padawan, though for now then I will ask only that you think on what I've said. I suspect with enough consideration you will see things our way."

"'Our way'?" Qui-Gon repeated quietly. "Who else has joined your school of thought, my Master?"

Dooku smiled tightly, waving a dismissive hand meant to impart to Qui-Gon that his former master no longer considered him worthy of this information. Embarrassed shame burned at the tips of his ears as Qui-Gon uneasily shifted in his chair.

"I do not think it wise to reveal to you any names until you reach a greater level of understanding, my Padawan. I must protect others who have broken free of the repressive way of the Council. Surely you understand," Dooku smiled kindly.

"Of course," Qui-Gon agreed, no longer grateful for the stinging pains behind his eyes, he was just so weary now. "I, um … need some time to reflect, Master," he stumbled hesitantly, torn between the warning from the Light in his spirit and the sensible ideas of the older Jedi that appealed to his heart, and the unflagging _**wanting**_ to restore the pride and trust his old master had once held for him. "I cannot make a decision without thinking this through carefully, though I assure you I will."

Dooku nodded his head graciously, but Qui-Gon was startled to see a flash of naked fear dart through the other man's dark eyes. "Of course, Qui-Gon." He pressed a hand onto Qui-Gon's arm, sudden, crushing exhaustion leaking from his control. "Though I must ask you to make your decision quickly, for our time has suddenly grown short. Please also understand that I must ask you not to speak of this to any of the Council. As you know, the Council and I rarely see eye-to-eye, even on matters that should be obvious to a child."

Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "The innocent eyes of a child often see far more than the jaded perception of many adults." He also rose, rolling his shoulders lightly to relieve the pressure of sitting. "I'm going to return to my room now, Master, but I will join you at dinner…?"

Dooku dipped his head in acknowledgement, looking, Qui-Gon realized sadly, like the old man he was. Qui-Gon knew that his refusal to commit to his master's new ideology had wounded the other man's feelings, possibly even hurt his pride, but though Qui-Gon had been - after his initial shock - really rather unsurprised by Dooku's proposal, he still had an uneasy feeling about it. It seemed too … simple.

Qui-Gon stumbled as he stepped toward the door, another bright hammer of pressure in his head catching him off-guard, nearly sending him to the ground. His headache roared violently back into life, sending tears to his eyes. He reached out blindly for the doorframe, needing its unyielding support, barely hearing Dooku's concerned voice inquiring after him.

"I'm fine, I just need to … lie down … " he gasped out between clenched teeth, but even as he spoke the aching once again receded, calming to an unpleasant hum that still threw him off-guard but at least he could straighten his posture without weeping uncontrollably.

"Do you need assistance, Qui-Gon?" Dooku questioned worriedly, already sliding a firm hand under Qui-Gon's elbow, but Qui-Gon admitted uneasily to himself that his strongest desire right now was to be _**away**_ from Dooku, where he could sort through his confusion and decide his next steps in what had suddenly become a very uncomfortable visit. And quickly, as Dooku had stated.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you." Qui-Gon forced a reassuring smile. "I'm just going back to my room now."

Dooku looked distinctly unconvinced but allowed Qui-Gon to step away cautiously. Qui-Gon nodded his thanks, adding another small, placating smile, and left the room quietly, jumbled thoughts cluttering anxiously through his mind. Was Dooku on to something, or just crazy? Should he inform the Council? And would these headaches _**never**_ go away?

He moved slowly toward his room, passing a pair of cloaked Jedi striding down the hall from the opposite direction. Despite the haze of pain still clouding his vision, he recognized the taller one immediately from their brief meeting - Master Rhagos, easy to remember with his bright, cheerful eyes and pleasant demeanor. The other Jedi - shorter, compact, broad-shouldered - had a russet hood that shrouded his face, but a long, thin braid of copper had escaped to lay flat against the front of his robe. He leaned heavily on Rhagos, his walk a shambling, staggering lurch; clearly, he would have fallen without the guiding support of his Master. Rhagos' arm was firmly around the Padawan's shoulders, his large hand splayed supportively against his Padawan's side.

"Good evening," Qui-Gon greeted politely, reflexively, blinking past the fiery darts of pain ricocheting around his skull. Force, it hurt! "Master Rhagos, good to see you again. We weren't properly introduced before: I'm - "

"I'm sorry," Rhagos interrupted brusquely but with a patient smile, "We really need to be going. My Padawan needs medical attention from the Healers in the village - some version of a local flu." He inclined his head toward his Padawan with a knowing look, pity for the young man's misery written clearly across his expression. "Good evening."

"Master Jinn," the shorter Jedi murmured, obediently allowing himself to be led away by his Master. Something struck Qui-Gon as oddly off about the encounter and he made a mental note to ask Dooku about Master Rhagos' Padawan.

Just as soon as his headache went away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Angrily, Rhagos pulled the unresisting Padawan along beside him as they entered the docking bay, Kenobi's faltering steps failing to match the relentless pace set by the tall master. Rhagos shook the young man sharply, his irritation bubbling to the surface: his earlier conversation with Dooku had set him on edge enough that he had known he needed to get back to Garos before the fool completely unraveled everything, and now he would have to deal with Jinn _**and**_ Dooku, which infuriated him. First, however, he needed to remove Kenobi from Dooku's unwanted and damaging attempts to "help."

Kenobi swayed in his grasp; he had barely spoken since Rhagos had hauled him to his feet in the detention room, but one look at Kenobi's red, bloodshot eyes ringed by inky circles of charcoal and Rhagos had realized that Dooku had been employing one of his favorite methods - sleep deprivation - and that made him even angrier. That Dooku, against his explicit command, had _**dared**_ to interfere with _**his**_ Padawan during his absence? Unacceptable. The man was ludicrously transparent, for all his supposed subtlety, and if he thought he could "test" his own methods of coercion on Rhagos' Padawan, then Dooku was unsurprisingly even more the fool than Rhagos had counted him to be.

He caught Kenobi staring wide-eyed at him from beneath his hood, and Rhagos enjoyed the warm surge of fear the Padawan wasn't quite able to mask. He smiled cruelly, pale lips stretching in the unfamiliar gesture. "Are you ready to get back to work, Padawan?"

The door to the docking bay hissed open behind them, cutting off a reply from Kenobi, and Rhagos crushed a snarl deep inside him as Dooku's hopeful strode purposefully through the door. Rhagos tightened his grip on Kenobi's arm, the Padawan wavering slightly as he struggled to stay upright.

"Qui-Gon," Kenobi breathed desolately, the deep level of his misery swallowing even his apprehension. Rhagos was surprised at the wretchedness evoked in the Padawan by one he'd feared Kenobi would pin fruitless hopes of 'rescue' on, but Kenobi was more distressed by Jinn's appearance than anything else.

"I don't need to tell you what will happen if you open your mouth," Rhagos murmured quietly, and felt the barest scrape against his bicep as Kenobi dipped his head soundlessly in acknowledgement.

"Master Rhagos, wait," Jinn announced loudly, moving quickly towards them. Rhagos tensed, his fingers already flicking toward the lightsaber tucked out of sight beneath his robe as he forced a pleasant but impatient smile across his tight expression. There was no way this would end well.

"I've already told you, we are in a hurry. My Padawan urgently needs attention."

Jinn stopped centimeters from Rhagos, eye to eye with the other Master. "Master Rhagos," he intoned solemnly, "perhaps you are somehow unaware that you're harboring a fugitive from the Order," he announced, jerking his head sharply toward the silent Padawan. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he proffered archly, folding his arms across his broad chest with a stern glare.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," Rhagos returned smoothly, his grasp surreptitiously tightening on his lightsaber handle, carefully unclasping it, the smooth weight settling against his palm. "My Padawan and I have been installed here on Garos for the past several - "

"I assure you I am not mistaken," Qui-Gon retorted, his long fingers stabbing out to clutch the Padawan's rough hood and push it back over his slumped shoulders. "Why are you protecting … " his voice trailed off as he took in the battered, wan features, the familiar grey eyes staring back at him painfully. "Padawan Kenobi," he finished slowly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yes, I _**did**_ originally wrap the chapter right after Qui-Gon's 'headache' line, but I felt like the poor man has already taken so much heat for being perpetually confused that to give him a glimmer of redemption was the least I could do. Please let me know what you think - I'm not above shameless begging, as anyone who has read any of my fic knows!


	12. XII

I understand that many people are wary of ongoing violence in stories such as this one, so readers please be forewarned that the next few chapters do contain such themes.

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Twelve

"I wish I could say that it is a pleasure to see you again, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured softly, his swiftly darting glance instantly registering Kenobi's darkly bruised visage and haunted eyes - this haggard version of young Obi-Wan Kenobi was so far removed from the Padawan who had shown up on the doorstep of Qui-Gon's apartments at the Temple that Qui-Gon almost wouldn't have recognized him but for his unmistakable Signature deep within the Force and the jangling hum of uncontrolled emotion that discontentedly permeated the air around him.

Qui-Gon realized immediately that he had somehow stumbled onto something far more troubling than he had originally surmised when it had dawned on him after passing Rhagos and his Padawan in the hall that Kenobi had recognized him - even calling him by name, which had triggered a revelation that couldn't be ignored even past the relentless pounding in his head. He had actually thought that Kenobi was mocking him, challenging him to remember the Padawan who had abandoned him … now, however, he wasn't so certain, and the conclusions he'd reached the night before with Master Dooku suddenly didn't seem as clear as they had yesterday.

Kenobi offered him a wan smile, if it could even be called a smile; the ghastly sick quirk of his lips barely remained in place as the Padawan dropped his head wearily to acknowledge Qui-Gon's words.

Qui-Gon raised troubled eyes to meet the glare of the other Master. "Master Rhagos," he said, dangerously quietly, resolutely firm: "an explanation is required."

Rhagos' surprised, almost offended gaze met his evenly. "An explanation for _**what**_, exactly? Can you not see this young one is ill?" Rhagos pursed his mouth questioningly, adding impatiently, "I must take him to the Healers immediately. What more do you need to know?"

"I need to know why you are protecting a fugitive from the Jedi Order, for starters," Qui-Gon began sternly, refusing to be swayed by Rhagos' dismissive attitude. For his part, Kenobi kept his eyes downcast, shifting restively but saying nothing. "And why he looks like he's gone ten rounds with a gundark and lost," he added, concern seeping into his voice. His hand lifted involuntarily to touch Kenobi's face, but he pulled away before he could brush the pale cheek just beyond his hovering fingertips.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Master Jinn," Rhagos answered slowly, his confusion apparent. "My Padawan is assigned here on Garos with me; this is directly from the Jedi Council. You can check with Master Yoda if you like."

Qui-Gon's headache increased tenfold … what the hell was going on? "I will check with Yoda, you can be certain of that," he murmured, feeling so strongly the urge to turn around, to walk away, to once again leave to Kenobi to whatever fate the Force had decreed for him that _**didn't**_ contain the involvement of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon brought his hand to the crooked bridge of his nose, rubbing its unevenness wearily, trying to sort through his muddled thoughts. If only Master Dooku would come through those doors, help him make sense of this confusion …

"We _**do**_ need to be going, Master Jinn." Rhagos laid a gentle hand against Kenobi's shoulder blade to usher him away, but Qui-Gon saw the way the Padawan stiffened at a gesture that should have been comforting.

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked slowly, trying to meet the wide eyes that couldn't seem to hold his questioning glance. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Kenobi did meet his eyes then, a watery shimmer to his accusatory glare. "What could you wish to do for one as 'hopeless' as I, Master Jinn?" he rasped sharply, vehemently, his infuriated grey eyes boring into Qui-Gon as he spat, "I need nothing from _**you**_." He tried to wrest angrily from under his Master's hand, but Rhagos' thick fingers quickly dug into Kenobi's shoulder tightly, preventing the Padawan from moving away. A frustrated whimper slipped from between Kenobi's clenched teeth as Rhagos turned startled eyes toward him.

"Padawan!" The Jedi Master sounded quite surprised by Kenobi's unexpected ire and he darted an apologetic look at Qui-Gon. "I'm sorry, Master Jinn," he soothed, profoundly remorseful. "As I mentioned before, my Padawan is ill." A glimmer of hope flashed through his dark gaze. "Perhaps there is something you could do…?" he trailed of encouragingly, gently squeezing Kenobi's shoulder through the apprentice's robe.

The Padawan growled, but the misery and hatred in his eyes burned into Qui-Gon. "_Don't touch me!" _he snarled, and Qui-Gon almost took a step back at the vehemence directed at him - Kenobi had again become completely unfamiliar: twisted and bitter - even his Signature within the Force had shifted, growing Darker, malevolent, it snapped the air with a loud hum that Qui-Gon _**did**_ recognize. He stood his ground, caving to the panicked look Rhagos flashed him as the other Master suddenly shouted:

"Please help me with him! I can't - "

Qui-Gon couldn't afford to hesitate - Kenobi was out of control. Instinctively he summoned soothing energies from the Living Force swirling around him as it responded to his pleas, and he reached out to brush his fingers lightly against Kenobi's cheekbone, careful to avoid a savage scrape that was seeping and infected.

When his fingers touched the Padawan's too-warm cheek, Kenobi staggered, twisting in his master's grasp just as a blinding headache ripped through Qui-Gon's skull. He jerked his hand back too late as a blue-white rush of heat surged from Kenobi, an angry crackling of Force energy that slammed into Qui-Gon, and the Jedi Master's last thought was that he remembered feeling this same power before, nearly ten months ago when Kenobi had disappeared.

_Fool me once…_ Qui-Gon thought hazily, and then his eyes closed as he sank gracelessly into waiting darkness.

All indicators of panic immediately and completely wiped from his demeanor, Rhagos turned approvingly from the slumped body of the large Jedi Master to face the young man sagging against him, trembling and barely conscious, and he squeezed Kenobi's convulsing shoulder warmly.

"Nice work, Padawan," he said cheerfully.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Not all Jedi were completely able to sever the training Bond between Master and Padawan once the Padawan was released from the Master's care - in ideal cases, of course, released because they had successfully completed their training and attained the rank of Knight in their own right … in other, rarer cases, released because the Master had been found egregiously incapable of continuing the Padawan's training.

But the training Bond was a peculiar thing; useful, certainly, but the effects of which had not yet been quite fully explored. Sometimes, imprints were left behind at the severing of the Bond. Sometimes, the link between a Master and Padawan was so strong that nothing short of death could completely erase the last vestiges from the minds of those joined by it.

The Bond between Master Dooku and his old Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn was one of the latter, still resting comfortably in the back of Dooku's mind even after all these years; quiet, reassuring, dormant mostly, but every now and then he felt a flicker of emotion from his former student.

Like now.

It was nothing exceptionally discernable, just a vague unease that Dooku couldn't quite put his mental finger on, an uncertain rumbling in the back of his mind that added to the irritating nervousness he was already feeling. He'd felt a similar feeling before when he and Rhagos had waylaid Qui-Gon and Kenobi on their return trip from Agamar. It had been _disconcerting, _to say the least, to watch Rhagos work then, and the passage of time certainly hadn't made witnessing the man's unrelenting streak of cruelty any easier on the dignified older Jedi.

His worry growing, Dooku looked in quickly at the room he'd assigned to Qui-Gon and found it empty, though Qui-Gon should have returned here to rest almost an hour ago.

_I should never have left him alone with Rhagos here._

Shouldn't have left him alone, not after revealing his plans for the future. Shouldn't have left him, not with Rhagos here and clearly upset about Kenobi.

Dooku flinched at the emptiness of Qui-Gon's room surrounding him, passing an exhausted hand across his forehead, not at all liking the way his usually calm nerves were jumping and twitching.

_I should never have left him. _

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I am, as ever, surprised by your power."

Kenobi glared at him, a hateful burning darkening his bright eyes but he said nothing and Rhagos felt his pride prickle.

"Soon you'll stop fighting and use your power on your own," he pointed out with a disapproving tilt to his head, his weariness and disappointment with his student soaking into the space between them. "And I will no longer need to use you like a vessel just waiting to be filled."

Still trembling though he now stood upright under his own power, Kenobi refused to be baited by the master who had reclaimed him. "That day will never come," he answered certainly.

In a blur, Rhagos closed the gap to the apprentice, grabbing Kenobi's chin in his hand, his uncut fingernails digging into the Padawan's stubbled skin. He jerked Kenobi's ear close to his mouth, his breath stirring the ginger hair beneath his lips. "_Then I will use you until there's nothing left_," he hissed, the certainty in his voice chilling. "I will use you until your pathetic cries for mercy cease, until the last breath in your useless body is spent cursing me, until there is nothing left of you, little one, but a _shell_ from which the madness in your mind cannot escape…"

A twitch from Kenobi, and suddenly grey eyes were boring into Rhagos' own - he found himself looking down, momentarily unable to look away as his Padawan held his gaze firmly.

"You can try," Kenobi retorted softly.

A heartbeat passed before Rhagos shook himself back into control, stepping away from the Padawan and cursing his weakness for allowing Kenobi to regain his center, even for a second. The boy's power really was amazing - the reason for which Rhagos had convinced the Council to let him train the young Initiate - even Kenobi had no idea how strong he really was.

"Your mouth is getting ahead of you, little one," Rhagos sneered mockingly, grasping to regain the upper hand. "Have I been gone so long you've forgotten why you fear me?" He smiled, cold and twisted; a frisson of fear snaked its way through Kenobi's defiant eyes and Rhagos' grin widened in anticipation. "A refresher, then," he announced, "and then we have other business to attend to with the Garosians." His smile turned predatory, wanting, as he carefully tested unsure waters; Kenobi's reaction to Jinn had surprised him, but he wasn't convinced all was as it appeared. Obi-Wan Kenobi was too genuinely and nauseatingly … _good_ … to truly hate anyone. Except for maybe himself. "Shall we bring Master Jinn along, too?"

Kenobi's glare was as hard as his tone. "I do not care what you do with Qui-Gon Jinn," he answered coldly.

Rhagos' smile grew, taunting, twisting the knife. "Then you don't mind if he … watches?" he suggested, and his grin turned satisfied as Kenobi's staunchly bitter expression wavered at the implication.

"Is it not enough simply to hurt and humiliate me, now you wish to subject others to witnessing my private hell?" Kenobi snapped angrily.

"Submit to the cause and your 'private hell,' as you so dramatically put it, would be behind you," Rhagos suggested reasonably. "I have so little patience left for you now, Obi-Wan, and now I must deal with both Jinn _**and**_ Dooku. As we dither here, I have business waiting to be completed that I require your _special_ help for … do you not see, little one, how your continued sad attempts as resistance are doing nothing other than hurting you and putting me behind schedule?"

Kenobi smiled darkly, coldly pleased. "At least I'm accomplishing something, then."

Rhagos grit his teeth as his frustration bubbled over, clenching his jaw so tightly his head hurt. Two short steps and he was back at Kenobi's side, the feel of his knuckles bursting against Kenobi's cheek so satisfying, so warmly _pleasant_ that he followed the quick strike up with a backhand that snapped Kenobi's head to the side. The Padawan staggered, spitting blood as he sank to his knee, glaring up angrily as Rhagos instinctively raised a fist to strike again.

But Rhagos reigned in his anger abruptly, forcing himself to be calm, reaching out to whatever in the Force was listening to pull calm to himself. He wrapped a large first in the front of Kenobi's tunics and hauled the semiconscious Padawan to his feet, the tips of Kenobi's boots barely grazing the docking bay tiles. Rhagos pulled Kenobi in close, so close he could see the widening of Kenobi's grey eyes and the small drops of perspiration dampening the young man's forehead under his shaggy hair.

"You have until tonight," Rhagos hissed sharply. "My patience is up. Cease your pathetic rebellion or I _**will**_ let the Garosians keep you, and I know you're _well aware _they will not be as kind as I have been." He released his grasp on the other man, stepping back as Kenobi flopped to the floor with a satisfying _thunk,_ sprawling on his back with a pained grunt.

Rhagos eyed the two prone Jedi, a glimmer of an idea settling into his mind, though he admitted to himself distastefully that it was more along the lines of Dooku's way of thinking than his. And yet, despite his words to the Padawan, he had no intention of giving Kenobi up - he had come too far, spent too long, working on his apprentice to start over again. Kenobi just needed that last push over the edge.

"And now, little one, I believe you're owed a reminder" he announced, feeling the first stirrings of warm pleasure sweep over him, accompanied by a palpable excitement that twisted up his spine; he could swear he felt himself salivating, the heat in his mouth delicious. He expelled his breath in a rush as he hooked the toe of his boot under Kenobi's side, pulling up and flipping the young man over onto his stomach. Kenobi gasped and ground his teeth as his battered body slapped against the cold permacrete, inhaling roughly as Rhagos knelt beside him, trembling already starting to make its way through the Padawan's limbs as he realized what was about to happen. The defiant apprentice disappeared swiftly as frightened weariness settled in.

"Please don't…" he whispered in the dull tone of one who had long given up on receiving mercy but couldn't keep himself from asking for it.

Rhagos smiled slightly; though he hated to concede a point to Dooku, it may be that a more subtle manipulation _**was**_ required with Kenobi. "You see, little one," he murmured, "how frustrating it is to ask and ask, and not be heard? You and I, Obi-Wan, share the same frustration, the same agony of _wanting_ but not receiving that which we ask for. How can I show you mercy when you continually rebuff my attempts to train you, to regain all the ground we lost when the Council took you away from me?" His long fingers were working their way under Kenobi's collar as he spoke, brushing aside the snarled ginger hair that tickled his palms.

Kenobi fell silent, pinching his eyes shut, hopelessness already thick in his Signature, his shuddering increasing as Rhagos' fingertips snaked across the pale skin of his scarred shoulder blades, tracing the gouges carved there. Nearly lost in his enjoyment of the sensation of the Padawan's fear, Rhagos almost missed the low moans from Jinn that sounded in unison with the pained groans of Kenobi.

Rhagos lifted his gaze to the slumped body of Qui-Gon Jinn lying nearby, his mind already clicking ahead. He wasn't sure whether to be furious, intrigued, or elated at the suspicion that Obi-Wan had somehow managed to form a bond with Jinn - he had actually assumed his Padawan's capacity to form a mental bond with anyone had been permanently damaged when their own training bond had been ripped apart violently, nearly shattering Kenobi's mind in the process. It should have been a painless procedure to sever the bond at the demand of the Council, Rhagos admitted, but he had been so angry, livid and bitter at their intervention and Kenobi's betrayal, that he had destroyed their bond, reaching as far into Obi-Wan's mind as he could before the Council realized what was happening and _twisted_, spilling Dark and hatred as he swiftly embedded a door he knew the Council would never find, a link unceasingly binding him to his Padawan.

Rhagos stilled his roving fingers where they had been lovingly tracing the gnarled skin beneath his hand. "I _**could**_ be persuaded to be merciful, Obi-Wan," he murmured thoughtfully, "… just maybe… "

Kenobi said nothing but his trembling body froze on the intake of a breath, his shoulders lifted slightly with the motion. Rhagos rose carefully, moving away from the prone Padawan to kneel next to the senseless Jedi Master.

Rhagos' lips formed a smile, twisted and cold. "Were you telling the truth when you said you didn't care what happens to Qui-Gon Jinn? Because I would be willing, little one, just maybe willing to transfer your punishment to him. If you ask nicely."

Kenobi's eyes slowly opened, his gaze shuttered and unreadable and Rhagos felt a clenching of disappointment in his chest. Did Kenobi indeed not care? Had he misread him? He brushed back long strands of chestnut from where they lay gently across Jinn's bearded cheek, watching surreptitiously for any change in Kenobi's demeanor. "Or I could give him to the Garosians," he mused thoughtfully. "He could take your place, Obi-Wan. You could be …free."

Kenobi shifted gently, but even the small movement set off a string of rough coughing that doubled the Padawan over tightly. When his panting finally subsided, he gently laid his head back on the cold permacrete; a trickle of blood slid past Obi-Wan's lips as he wheezed dryly, acceptingly, "I will never be truly free of you, Master Rhagos."

Rhagos nodded in agreement. "No," he said with certainty, "You won't." He rose, gesturing toward the prone Jedi Master. "And now, Padawan Kenobi, you have a decision to make."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Okay, so crazy Obi-Wan _**was**_ going to show up here, but confused Qui-Gon keeps dragging the story out. Next time, dear readers, and maybe after 10,000 reviews!


	13. XIII

Okay, this story just sneakily keeps growing, so I'm giving up trying to predict in which chapter things are going to happen, lol. Love it? Hate it? Being driven mad by Qui-Gon's endless confusion? Let me know! Please? Pleeeeeeeease?

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Thirteen

_Shouldn't have left him. I __**shouldn't**__ have left him. What was I thinking?_

The hastily jumbled mantra echoed relentlessly in his mind, melding neatly with the overloud crack of his hurried bootfalls on the old stone floor. _Shouldn't have, I shouldn't have …_

Dooku had searched the ground floor thoroughly for Qui-Gon; the docking bay was the only place yet to be checked, but even as he entered the emptiness of the still space his heart sank a little further into despair, his unwelcome fear locked in a little more firmly against his ribcage. The docking bay was empty now, but he easily and immediately picked up on the sense of turmoil permeating the air, along with the lingering residue of the Signature he recognized as Kenobi's from the brief time he had spent with the young, tortured apprentice.

And Qui-Gon. He realized with startling certainty that Qui-Gon had been here also, and that did not bode well for the missing Jedi - Rhagos had already made quite clear his intent to murder Dooku's former Padawan, and Dooku didn't bother wasting a pointless moment of imagining that Rhagos would somehow surprise him with an uncharacteristic display of mercy dredged up somewhere from the blackness that permeated his entire being.

There were crimson smudges on the docking bay's permacrete flooring - _I shouldn't have left him_ - and rising panic clawed at him harshly as he backed out the doors, pivoting to storm through the hall, thundering down the shallow stairs to the only place Rhagos felt completely in control; his shaking hand quickly entering the code to disarm the shimmering energy seal in place around the door …

Completely unsurprised and unfazed by his whirlwind entrance, Rhagos turned to face him as he charged through the doorway. He wiped his bloodstained hands on a pristine white rag, eyeing Dooku coolly, waiting patiently for him to explain his decidedly distasteful emotional and dramatic arrival. Dooku glanced around quickly in the dimness of the small room, his worried scan falling on Qui-Gon; the large Jedi was secured neatly upright within a levitation field, unconscious but with no visible injuries. Anger - justified rage made all the more potent by his unacceptable loss of calm - swept in darkly to replace his worry and he drew himself up haughtily, his gaze level with that of the Master watching him idly. Dooku looked past the silent Rhagos to where Kenobi hung limply in the wall restraints like a youngling's rag doll, his ginger head bowed to his naked chest. The wall behind him was spattered liberally with fresh gore and Dooku swallowed past the revulsion and hatred crowding his throat.

"Rhagos, what have you done?" he asked softly.

"You needn't worry about Qui-Gon," Rhagos replied calmly, leaning lazily against the table set into the wall as he tossed the sodden rag clutched in his fist onto its littered surface carelessly. "Obi-Wan couldn't get past his hero complex." He smiled proudly, disturbingly pleased with his apprentice: broken into shattered pieces - but not bowed, even now. "And **that** has always worked to my advantage."

_At least Qui-Gon is unharmed_, was Dooku's only relief amidst his burgeoning unease, though he admitted somewhat anxiously to himself that he wasn't even certain that was true. He couldn't quite ignore the steady _plip-plip-plip_ of Kenobi's blood dripping to the floor, as haughtily as he tried. Rhagos noticed his ashen complexion, followed his gaze to Kenobi, and shrugged carelessly.

"I got carried away," he admitted indifferently, waving a dismissive hand. He glanced down at the front of his robes, stained red, and added dryly, "I do, however, need to get cleaned up before Obi-Wan and I join the Garosians. Although … " he faced Kenobi, mulling quietly for a moment as he raised a hand to card through Kenobi's saturated ginger hair absently. A small keening of grief slid from Kenobi at the touch, the barest of sighs, but no other sound or movement came from the limp Padawan, propped awkwardly in restraints set too high in the wall to allow him to even rest on his knees, too exhausted to do more than sag bonelessly against the cold stone behind him.

Rhagos regarded his apprentice clinically, no hint of remorse or pity fleeting across his stern visage. He turned away from the pitiful sight of his own making, musing aloud thoughtfully with a quick, appraising glance at the other Jedi who still stood at the threshold, shock and distaste poorly hidden under the mask of disgusted superiority hastily erected on Dooku's face.

"Padawan Kenobi may not have the strength to assist me tonight," Rhagos murmured, schooling his hard features into an expression of deep thought, covering his sneer and speaking just slowly enough that it would appear to Dooku that he were just now formulating this idea that had instead taken root in his mind much earlier.

"I wonder if Master Jinn would be up to the task…?" he added thoughtfully, an amused, deprecating smile graced his perfect teeth. "After all, Obi-Wan **did** do this for Master Jinn … I rather think Qui-Gon owes him, don't you?"

Dooku could barely keep the retch of disgusted horror from slipping past his lips. Let this monster touch Qui-Gon, let him use Dooku's Padawan in the ways Rhagos shamed and destroyed his own? **Never**_**. Never.**_

Dooku glanced at the two restrained Jedi: his own beloved Padawan held rigidly amidst crackles of white-blue energy, his lined face pained even in unconsciousness; and Kenobi, for whom there were no words to describe the devastation this young one existed in. For an unguarded moment, Dooku allowed his mind to form the picture he'd been clinging to these long and uncertain months of his new Order: Force-users from all walks of life free to use the Force without fear of retribution, no strict enrollment guidelines such as those the Council currently enforced, himself at the proud head …

He was chagrined to admit that his prized mental image, long held in a quiet but growing corner of his mind, didn't look anything like the grisly scene laid out before him; Qui-Gon looked so uncomfortably exhausted, and a small river of Kenobi's spilt blood had almost reached Dooku's boot tips.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way. __**He **__has betrayed our ideal … __**he**__ will bring about our ruination. _

Dooku wasn't sure how long he stood, cold in his hatred, rigid feet frozen to the stone floor, registering nothing but the fracturing shards of his dream splintering in his mind and the familiar weight of the curved lightsaber handle hanging securely at his side.

His gaze eventually lifted to Qui-Gon and warmth slowly stole back into his frigid being; a determination not to let his dream be shattered by the treacherous **worm** that had imprisoned his beloved apprentice. Kenobi would live or die, that mattered little to Dooku, but the Padawan **had **been the key that had brought Qui-Gon back to him. Without the headaches Qui-Gon had been experiencing through the unintentional bond formed between Kenobi and Jinn, Qui-Gon would never have stepped away from his busy life within the Order, would never have been dragged unwillingly to the point where he would take an unauthorized sabbatical from the Temple to respond to his old master's call for help. Perhaps he owed the boy for that much at least.

One last look at Qui-Gon and resolve settled firmly in his mind.

Rhagos needed to be taken care of.

It was the will of the Force.

He looked to Rhagos, still staring at him expectedly; had it had been only but a moment since the other man had put forward his horrific suggestion?

Dooku smiled pleasantly.

"I think you underestimate my Padawan, old friend," he assured calmly. "I am sure he will be quite up to the task."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was the sound of his own voice in his relentlessly pounding head that pulled him wearily back to consciousness; his own quiet words demanding that he return his focus to the present.

At least, he thought that was what he heard. It was definitely his voice, but it took him a moment to realize the words he had thought were in his head were actually echoing around the dimly lit room.

"_I didn't even see that he wanted to be a Jedi."_

Awareness reluctantly bled back in, pulling him toward an unappreciated state of wakefulness. He couldn't figure out why his voice sounded so sad, so discouraged.

"_His grasp of the Force was shaky at best _… "

Even more disconcerting, he thought he heard an echo to his words; softer somehow, resigned, more than matching the despair in his own tone: he thought, actually, that he heard the weary, familiar voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi softly reciting the words he himself was speaking into the silence. But that was impossible: he was here on Coruscant at the Temple, and Padawan Kenobi was lost to the galaxy somewhere.

But that didn't explain why he heard young Kenobi's voice, perfectly in sync with his own, murmur the bitter words,

"_I think that Padawan Kenobi has been tainted by Dark."_

He must still be dreaming. Qui-Gon closed his eyes quietly, and drifted back into darkness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Careful to avoid getting any of Kenobi's … mess … on his boots, Dooku lifted the recorder from the table and slid it deep into his pocket. He would do what he resolved to do, and it was not a sign of weakness to take this small memento of his last coherent conversation with his old Padawan with him. Fitting, even.

Kenobi was mercifully unconsciousness. His whisper-thin voice had immediately begun mimicking the strong intonations of Qui-Gon Jinn when Dooku had first flipped the recording device on following Rhagos' departure to prepare for his little visit with the Garosians, but Kenobi had at some point during Dooku's musings and planning slid into a state quietly free from the pain his wounded body was gnashing on, the grief-stricken whine in his reedy voice falling silent until the only noise in the small room was the labored breathing of the two restrained Jedi and the roar of Dooku's own thoughts.

Dooku studied his own apprentice warmly, hating to see the powerful body and spirit confined so: the strong, leonine features, the stubborn set to Qui-Gon's jaw, the furrowing of his forehead that probably indicated a headache brought on by the shared link with Kenobi.

He **would** return for him.

"Please understand that I go now to do what I must do," he murmured softly to his unconscious apprentice, firm determination underscoring his quiet words. "Not because I want to, Qui-Gon, but because I have to."

At his soft words, Kenobi stirred, flinching as consciousness crawled back, reasserting itself with the painful reminders of what he had recently endured. His head sagged against his shoulder awkwardly as he dragged dull eyes up to glance at Dooku, struggling to focus his blurred vision on the Jedi Master. Dooku could admit that a small seed of pity took root within him as he studied the Padawan, but he knew better than to let emotion get too firm a foothold, just as he knew from experience here on Garos with the boy that any prolonged conversation with Kenobi would severely test his patience. The sarcasm-laced recalcitrance of the Padawan slid under his skin with an ease that only one who was truly disrespectful of the man Dooku was could achieve, and Dooku had neither the time nor the patience for that. Especially not now - he needed to strike while Rhagos was temporarily and by his own fault unable to hide behind the strength of his apprentice.

Nonetheless, he allowed his fingertips to briefly brush Kenobi's slack jaw lightly, regretfully. "I am sorry I can do nothing for you, young Obi-Wan." He purposefully swept his fingers across his tunic, deliberately wiping them clean even though they bore no visible stain. "I did try," he added. "You were simply too stupid to allow me to help."

He was a little surprised that no retort was forthcoming from Kenobi, just an exhausted dip of the ginger head in acknowledgement. Perhaps Rhagos had finally broken the little one, though Dooku found that he felt no remorse if that was indeed the case.

"… Master Jinn?" was the surprising inquiry that tripped from Kenobi's stained lips, and Dooku felt a startled but pleased smile slip across his face, warm pride suffusing him that his beloved Padawan had managed to get through to even this lost one.

"Qui-Gon will be fine," he assured confidently. "Unlike, most probably, yourself," he couldn't stop himself from adding, though he knew the taunt was beneath him. Kenobi had that effect on him, and he despised the Padawan for it.

"Even when … he finds out … that you helped Master Rhagos?" Kenobi rasped, disbelief unchecked in his pointed question. Dooku rounded on the limp Padawan, the final shards of pity immediately dissolving into anger as he knew they would, and he allowed a little of the Darkness inside him to show through, reveling in his mastery over the Dark without ever realizing that it was the Dark who toyed with _**him**_.

Kenobi shrank back against the wall at the rage in the Jedi Master's face, helpless before him, and Dooku could easily admit he craved the rush of fear he had created in the young man; Kenobi's defiance had disappeared as easily as if he had snapped his fingers.

"Listen well, young Obi-Wan." Dooku tempered his voice, allowed the Dark to weight his words though he was neither threatening nor brutal, but firm and haughty, and deadly serious. Whether he now spoke the truth or not he himself couldn't be sure - but all that mattered was that Kenobi believed him. "If you breathe a word of my involvement to Qui-Gon, I will be forced to kill him."

Kenobi shook his head wearily in exhausted disbelief. "No, you wouldn't."

Dooku's tone hardened, the surety in his words unmistakable. "As much as I love my Padawan, he would become a detriment to me and I cannot allow that." He lifted his fingers through Kenobi's thick ginger hair, the matted strands sliding across his palm lazily. "Qui-Gon Jinn is in your unclean hands, Obi-Wan. Would you have yet **another** life on your already overburdened conscience?"

A defeated tear collected on Kenobi's long lashes, his despair palpable, and the Padawan would have dropped his head in shame if Dooku's hand hadn't firmly twisted itself in his hair, forcing him to keep his face upturned to the Master.

"No," he whispered softly.

Dooku nodded, satisfied. He turned his back on Kenobi, despising the young man's weakness while at the same time grudgingly admiring his inner strength. Dooku glanced at his own former Padawan, wondering if it would be for the final time, and left the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He and Rhagos were evenly matched in their fighting style, but he couldn't afford to take chances: the lives of Qui-Gon Jinn and his new Order were depending on him. He had to throw Rhagos off, had to dishevel the implacable front in the same way Kenobi was able to disrupt his own sense of calm.

It was ironic, but more so amusing, that Dooku had learned something from Kenobi even as the younger man had had so stubbornly refused to accept any help from him.

He eyed Rhagos idly, having located the other man easily in the docking bay as the Jedi Master prepared for his departure. He could admit to himself a small rise of excitement tensing his chest at the thought of baiting Rhagos after suffering through so much condescension from the other man.

"You should know that Kenobi is planning on escaping," was how he haughtily announced his arrival in the docking bay. "He intends to convince Qui-Gon to take him back to the Temple." Dooku sneered, mockingly enough to sting, "I am surprised you were foolish enough to put them together, even in captivity."

Rhagos stilled, freezing amidst the motion of straightening his spotless robes, freshly donned after discarding the stained ones. "How would you know this?" he asked suspiciously, quickly putting himself back to work resettling the supplies he had loaded into a waiting speeder - but not before Dooku had noticed with satisfaction the first fine tremor jerking across the other man's now-busy hands.

"I heard it from Qui-Gon himself. **My** old Padawan, at least, has complete faith in me and warned me of Kenobi's intentions," Dooku explained smugly. "It seems that despite your … most enthusiastic efforts … you haven't quite managed to break the little Padawan yet."

Rhagos shook his head sharply, scoffing at the image of control of his apprentice slipping through his fingers. "Kenobi hates Jinn," he murmured distrustfully, but his strong voice was hesitant, carrying just a hint of doubt.

"He spent enough time with Jinn to form a training bond, did he not? There is at least a connection there of some sort," Dooku interjected pointedly. "Kenobi is clever - he got away from you once." He watched Rhagos carefully for a response, adding, "His determination to escape this time will be no less; he is merely waiting for the opportunity to present itself."

Dooku could now easily see the effect his words were having; a rage was building in the other Jedi Master that darkened his narrow face and illuminated his eyes with a hint of madness. Dooku understood that he was on increasingly unsteady ground, that he needed to be very cautious now - if he pushed Rhagos too far, he would lose the edge he was angling for. The time to strike was swiftly approaching …

Rhagos turned his back to Dooku and the silver-haired Jedi's long fingers slid toward his lightsaber handle.

He stole closer swiftly; he could see the trembling across Rhagos' shoulders as Dooku's earnest lies sunk in, his anger growing at his wayward apprentice.

_Now!_ Dooku's reflexes shouted - his hand flashed for his lightsaber - but he was stopped cold by the words spoken by his one-time accomplice.

"Shall the blow come from a friend?" Rhagos asked quietly, his soft voice somehow breaking through the pounding of adrenaline roaring through Dooku's senses.

"I don't know what you mean," Dooku murmured, movement momentarily arrested as Rhagos turned to face him, pulling his dark robes taut against himself.

"I am no fool, old friend." Rhagos drew himself up proudly, sadness shining in his dark eyes, his expression twisted in regret. "What you have come to do, do swiftly and let us be done with it."

Dooku's grasp tightened on his curved lightsaber, unhooking it from his belt silently.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I don't have to remind you to please review, but I will just in case. ;)


	14. XIV

With supremely grateful thanks to And I'm all out of bubblegum, whose incredibly thoughtful and detailed review caused me to strike a compromise with the Muse and get this chapter posted. After obediently following the story outline up til this point, the Muse has suddenly decided that the ending we had long agreed upon maybe isn't quite right, and that there should only be one ending for poor, beleaguered Obi-Wan. We'll see who wins.

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Fourteen

Qui-Gon Jinn opened gritty eyes, slowly forcing himself to ignore the consuming exhaustion gnawing at him, trying desperately to focus his mind against the building panic beating a steady tattoo against his wakening thoughts. Something was very, very wrong, but he needed to stay calm if he wanted to discover what it was.

The answer came very quickly as he attempted to lift a hand to rub at the relentless ache across his forehead:

He couldn't move anything below his shoulders.

Terror erupted across his drowsy mind but Qui-Gon forced himself to be composed, willed himself to study his situation before giving in to the sick dread that was clawing hungrily at his gut. He wanted to focus - but was immediately distracted as a tiny, irritating jolt of white-hot electricity skittered across his skin, effectively disrupting his concentration.

_What the hell?_

A flicker of cerulean, accompanied by another small twitch of current, distracted him again, dancing across his vision around the region of his right shoulder. The room was disturbingly dim, illuminated only by the regular flashes of stinging blue that were making it so hard to think clearly. His eyes were adjusting slowly, however, and he thought he caught a small stirring across the room - not something that would have caused him any nervousness in his usual state, but confined as he was, he couldn't keep a small quiver from rippling through his chest.

He hoped it wasn't rats. He hated rats. Give him all of the creatures so loved by the Living Force and he would welcome and care for them with open, accepting arms… except rats - clearly _**they**_ were a foul manifestation of the Dark Side sent to terrify a large Jedi Master who routinely conducted missions of mercy within Coruscant's lower levels.

He was understandably but irrationally irritated by the waver in his voice when he asked shakily,

"Is anyone there?"

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, a little embarrassed by the warble showing through - barely a trace of his normal strength boomed through at a time he really would have liked to sound in command. His followup attempt was a little stronger, but not much: "Hello?"

If he could have moved his body, he still would frozen in surprise at the familiar voice that answered him.

"Master Jinn."

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always sounded tired to him, like someone who had wearied of life long before they should, but now he just sounded utterly emptied, his voice almost unrecognizably him but for the undercurrent of his Core accent. The anger he had displayed toward Qui-Gon in the docking bay earlier was still there, alive and poisonous, dripping with hatred and it echoed in Qui-Gon's mind, though even wearied as he was Qui-Gon could sense a lack of conviction to the emotion Kenobi struggled to present.

And there was the hum, always the hum that accompanied young Kenobi, jangling just on the edge of Qui-Gon's awareness.

"Padawan," he rasped tensely; not a greeting, merely an acknowledgement and he hoped he sufficiently masked the uncertainty in his voice. Even confined, he would still be in control.

Qui-Gon waited for Kenobi to emerge from the shadows, but there was no other movement forthcoming in the dimness. His grasp of the Living Force told him that Kenobi was hiding something from him beyond the wild trembling in the Padawan's Signature, but Qui-Gon was having trouble concentrating past the disruptive crackles of electricity shooting through his body. Whoever had designed this captivity device was, Qui-Gon was realizing ruefully, a genius; combining the body's natural rebellion against immobility with incessant jolts of electricity that disrupted the captive's thinking process … even as focused in the Force as he was, Qui-Gon was finding it difficult to maintain a coherent line of thought for more than a few moments.

He shook his head unhappily, wincing at the restricted movement.

"What are you doing here?" was Kenobi's question, the words stunted and slow, angry and bitter, biting at him from the darkness. They were also, Qui-Gon noted worriedly, filled with a fear that bordered on terrified and that unnerved the Jedi Master. There were too many emotions emanating from Kenobi, too much _dividedness_ within the young Padawan. Kenobi was extremely unstable.

"I don't know," he admitted, deciding the best route was to be cautiously honest with the volatile Padawan, though a hazy memory was pushing at the front of his mind that he couldn't quite clear... "Aren't I here because of _**you**_?"

"I don't know. In what sense?" Kenobi asked, the smallest trace of humor diffusing some of the anger in his tone, the rapid shift in emotion somewhat unsettling.

The lights blared on, blinding them both with their sudden painful intensity. White screamed across his vision and Qui-Gon blinked hastily, wishing he could bring a hand up to cover his eyes and brush away the tears that had sprung through reflexively. He heard Kenobi gasp at the brightness, followed by a shuddering sigh, and then a mumbled, "Hooray, the one hour of light a day." A pause. "Seems early, though," Kenobi murmured thoughtfully, a frown heavy in his voice.

Qui-Gon kept his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to fade, trusting that he could sense it if Kenobi approached with the intention to do him harm; it was hard _**not**_ to sense the presence of the aggravated Padawan, always lurking in the back of his mind … almost like they shared a …

More blue light from his prison, more pain, and Qui-Gon paused quizzically. Where had he been going with that…?

A thought flicked across his curiosity, breaking through the cluttered discord of his mind. "Why are you so angry at me, Padawan?" he asked gently. "Were you not the one who left me?"

He heard the snort in Kenobi's voice. "_**Left**_ you?" he asked derisively, bitter but not mocking. "Do you even remember what happened, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon felt his back stiffen - or at least, he would have if he'd had the ability to move. The sensation was the same, though; Kenobi's disdainful attitude rubbed him the wrong way. He opened his eyes, prepared to chastise the young man for his flippancy - even if he was a prisoner of Kenobi's, he would not suffer the Padawan's rudeness.

He opened his mouth to speak, his gaze locating and settling on Kenobi at the far side of the room, and the words died in his throat.

"Charred wreckage" was the phrase that bounced in his mind, along with an odd memory from the day he had met Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had been pacing his apartments, awaiting the arrival of the Padawan, grousing to himself about the ridiculous arrangement facilitated by the Council - that he, Qui-Gon Jinn, the Master who had vowed to never take on another apprentice, was being forced to accept Kenobi for training. And in his mental complaining, he had referred to Kenobi as "charred wreckage." He'd been facetious, mildly annoyed, angry about the unwanted change to his routine and the even more unwanted Padawan. The label had been frivolous, something thought up by a silly, bitter old man irritated about his schedule being thrown into chaos.

But, tragically, Qui-Gon realized, the moniker suited Kenobi quite well now.

Barechested and bloody, with staggeringly dark circles that hung under red-rimmed eyes burning with overstimulated emotion, Kenobi was braced, Qui-Gon could see, awkwardly against the spattered wall behind him to keep the restraints around his wrists from dislocating his arms. How he was keeping himself upright, Qui-Gon couldn't even fathom; Kenobi looked like he was about to crumble into a shuddering mass of mangled flesh at any moment. There was no unscathed area, no ashen skin unmarked by dark smudges of crimson and a peppering of bruises from his hairline to his hips, disappearing into the torn waist of his trousers. In some places it looked as if his skin had been _ripped_ away; Qui-Gon hastily averted his eyes from these seeping patches of spongy pinkness, swallowing quickly and repeatedly to keep from vomiting in sheer revulsion.

Kenobi held his body in an unnaturally awkward way, his weight shifted against the bloody wall behind him and to his right side, and Qui-Gon could see the lower half of his left trouser leg was saturated in crimson, leaking down over his bare foot to pool across the floor. Bootprints tracked through the spilled blood, marking a grotesque and sticky trail to the door.

He didn't want to keep looking, to keep cataloguing the staggering array of hurts, but even the crackling forcefield around him couldn't sufficiently distract him, though he very much wanted it to.

Kenobi watched his examination quietly, clearly exhausted but simmering, anger still humming in the air around him mixed with shame at Qui-Gon's blatant perusal. The Padawan was clearly waiting for an answer to a question Qui-Gon had already forgotten, lost to his horror and the mind-disrupting properties of his prison. Kenobi's gaze turned inward, perhaps remembering that day so many months ago he had disappeared from Qui-Gon's life, and answered the query Qui-Gon had posed so incredulously.

"I did not leave you, Master Jinn. Not intentionally." He sighed, his anger sliding away slowly. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," he added cryptically, numbly and a little sad considering his present state.

Another thought danced through the scattered jumble in Qui-Gon's brain, a sickening notion he wished hadn't occurred to him at all. Qui-Gon waited impatiently until the burning from the electric crackle across his thigh receded, grasping for the thought he'd been trying to hold on to. It couldn't be true, surely; hadn't his old master inquired so gently after Kenobi, so earnestly? Hadn't Dooku always shown the most kind of natures? But he had to ask, to calm the nagging that had popped up as he too thought back on that day.

"Padawan … does Master Dooku know you're here?"

Had he known what the lie would eventually cost him, Kenobi might not have let the falsehood slip so easily from his lips, but the young Padawan well remembered Dooku's warning.

"No, Master Jinn," he replied quietly. The Padawan's answer should have been suspicious to Qui-Gon - how could Dooku _**not**_ know? - but relief flooded his senses and he let the matter drop.

Silence descended on them, awkward but somehow not uncomfortable - a surprise to Qui-Gon, considering their present circumstances. He could still barely bring himself to look at Kenobi; the spirit may have been intact, but the body was battered beyond a point the young one should have been able to bear. He focused instead on his own prison, intrigued yet again by the intelligence behind the design, hoping too to draw a little more information from the Padawan.

"What is this? It's damned uncomfortable," he murmured aloud.

Kenobi somewhere worked up the energy to shrug a pale shoulder. "Some sort of levitation device designed by giant insects, I think," he offered knowledgeably, adding, "And I agree, it's horribly uncomfortable." His raspy voice was thin, but to Qui-Gon the young man actually seemed encouraged to be able to speak to someone. The Jedi Master presumed months of almost solitary confinement - _**had**_ Kenobi been here all of the _**months**_ since he'd disappeared? - could erase even the harshest bitterness when the opportunity for personal contact presented itself.

"I hear it's just a prototype, but I can't imagine the improved design being much better." Kenobi's ginger eyebrow lifted thoughtfully. "I really don't think it's designed with the prisoner's comfort in mind, at any rate."

"No, I suppose not," Qui-Gon grumbled, still surprised by the torrent of words from the Padawan who had barely spoken to him during their brief, stunted apprenticeship. A flicker of electricity lanced across his thoughts and he almost lost the thread, but he caught it at the last second. "How do you know?" he asked curiously.

Kenobi's lips quirked wryly, pale lines set in a dirty, bruised face. "I get to test all the new toys. It's a perk of the job."

Qui-Gon was struggling to piece together what was different about Kenobi - something not quite right. Not even the obvious on the surface, but something deeper, something … disconnected underneath, below the flippancy where something dark was lurking … and Qui-Gon thought he remembered reaching for Kenobi's face, touching his cheek, Kenobi was so angry, white light, and Qui-Gon had begun to feel afraid at the untapped power swirling behind Kenobi's too-calm eyes -

And then there was another crackle of electricity and he forgot that he should have actually been terrified.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Padawan Kenobi … "

He wasn't certain how to phrase the question, but the quiet that hung over them was beyond oppressive, broken only by the sizzle of the levitation device and Kenobi's wheezing breaths. But Qui-Gon couldn't take the silence anymore, not with his connection to the Living Force being constantly disrupted by his prison. He needed to _touch_ someone, and the wounded, confusing Padawan was all he had.

"Why are you in your present state?" It was an awkward way to phrase the question, but it was all his scattered mind would allow.

Kenobi lifted his head, grey eyes amused, the anger in his aura quiet for now. If Qui-Gon had been able to think clearly, he would have realized how dangerously fractured Kenobi was, but the thought didn't cross his mind in his own disrupted state.

"I misbehaved," Kenobi said simply.

He could barely look at the battered Jedi without wincing. "Do you often misbehave, Padawan?"

A clatter of manacles as the Padawan shifted and Kenobi sighed. "I do have trouble controlling my tongue," he admitted darkly. "It's one of my many weaknesses."

"Is it worth it?"

"Master Rhagos would do it anyway," Kenobi answered quietly. Qui-Gon noticed Kenobi's fingers were twitching as he spoke, a restless, unthinking gesture of helpless. "A Padawan actually in control of his faculties is useless to him ."

"Yes, but isn't a _useless_ Padawan useless to him?" Qui-Gon pressed.

The cold smile he got wasn't what he'd expected, and Kenobi glanced away into the darkness as he answered dryly, "I suspect the Sundari would be more gratified if I were useless - even now, I am not as weak as I appear, Master Jinn." There was no pride in his voice, only a clear stating of fact mixed with bitterness. Again, Qui-Gon experienced the thought that he should be alarmed - afraid, even - of Kenobi, but again it was gone in a flicker of blue that danced across his spine and left tiny pinpricks of pain in its wake.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said gently, falling back on his innate nurturing nature, ignoring his own discomfort. "Look at me. Look at me, young one," he encouraged quietly, watching the long ginger hair slide back from Kenobi's eyes as the other man slowly lifted his head, shame and disgust written clearly across his bruised features.

"You needn't feel so upset, Padawan. Everything will be okay. We can return to the Temple and Master Yoda will be able to help you."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Kenobi's lips, disbelief glinting in his tired grey eyes but he nodded his head respectfully, and his voice lacked conviction. "Of course, Master Jinn."

"We will escape, Padawan," Qui-Gon insisted. "Master Rhagos will yield."

Kenobi smiled weakly, dangling in his restraints like a damaged puppet, crimson dripping from innumerable places, and then he looked pointedly at Qui-Gon, confined within his own prison.

"Yes, he'll certainly cower before us now, Master," he agreed.

Qui-Gon couldn't reign in the surprised bark of laughter that slipped past his lips. "Nice to see you've a sense of humor after all, Padawan."

OOOOOOOOOO

He watched the monitor, seething at the easy though mostly unapparent bond that had indeed formed between Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn, whether they were aware of it or no. Dooku had been right, loathe as he was to admit it.

He grit his teeth, his eyes blazing black as Kenobi accepted with only a nod Jinn's assertion that they would return to Coruscant, to the Temple where his Padawan would be further corrupted by Yoda.

He wouldn't let that happen.

A hateful smile stretched across his lips as a malevolent idea began to take shape in his mind: a punishment so cruel Kenobi would have no choice but to submit - if there was enough left of him by that point to form a coherent thought. And Jinn would be punished just as his former Master had been.

Rhagos felt his spirit lift as he embraced the darkness dancing around him, filling him with warmth and power.

It was time to end this.

OOOOOOOOOO

Feed the Muse, please - review!


	15. XV

Thanks for the reviews! Here's this week's update, and thanks so much for feeding the Muse; knowing that people are enjoying this story is greatly encouraging and inspiring and I appreciate it (obviously! look at these weekly updates! lol)

OOOOOOOOOOO

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Fifteen

"I spy with my little eye," Qui-Gon said cheerfully, patiently ignoring the sizzle of electricity at his elbow, "something … blue."

Kenobi groaned, thudding his head back against the wall lightly. "Please tell me we're not doing this," he complained with a theatrical roll of his eyes. "I literally have _**no way**_ to escape from you."

"Well, you can't tell me that this is the worst thing that has happened to you of late," Qui-Gon pointed out sensibly. It was a fine line he walked, he knew, but the Jedi Master had also quickly learned that Kenobi despised his displays of pity despite his ragged state, and any hint of sympathy uttered or even projected by Qui-Gon simply added to the crumbling wall existing between them.

Absent snatches of conversation initiated by Qui-Gon had fallen flat, so the Jedi Master had eventually turned to more mundane ways to pass the time as Qui-Gon found himself reluctant to let Kenobi suffer in silence, but after only a little talking he'd found that he had little to offer by way of stimulating verbal exchange - his persistent headaches over the past several months had diminished his interest in what was happening around him and throughout the Temple.

"Besides, what else do we have to do?" Qui-Gon questioned reasonably, putting a shrug into his voice since he was still incapable of moving much below his chin, thanks to the levitation device Master Rhagos had imprisoned him within. His practical statement did little to assuage Kenobi, however.

"Please don't make me regret the very small amount of light I'm allowed per day by making me use it to hunt down frivolous objects in a pathetic attempt to pass the little time we have left," Kenobi protested wearily, somehow managing to sound like he was now _**even more**_ tired, and that it was all Qui-Gon's fault. He shifted his left leg gingerly as he spoke; Qui-Gon couldn't see the injury beyond the Padawan's bloodied and torn trousers but Kenobi winced and grimaced and didn't try to move it again, falling into a grim and dark silence that Qui-Gon refused to let flourish.

"Something blue," Qui-Gon repeated, trying to tell himself that he was distracting Kenobi for the Padawan's own benefit, but wondering uneasily if it was also due to his own inability to move that was making his mind flake away in regrettable little pieces. He was a man of action, of energy - and he was literally going crazy. How Kenobi had survived here for months was speechlessly beyond him.

Kenobi sighed expressively, clearly put upon beyond words, and glanced around unenthusiastically.

"The datapad?" he guessed reluctantly, choosing one of the two blue items in the room.

"That's right, Padawan!" Qui-Gon smiled encouragingly. "I'd clap at your mental acuity, but my arms are otherwise occupied," he nodded ruefully toward the levitation device and saw to his relief a grudging smile slip across Kenobi's pallid face.

"I'm wondering, Master Jinn, and please pardon my rudeness in asking … " Kenobi posited wryly, wriggling a little to keep sore muscles awake, "but did you lose your mind at some point in the last few months?" he asked bluntly. "Because I'll be honest, even though I was only your Padawan for a week, I seem to remember you being significantly less … senile."

Instead of being offended, Qui-Gon smiled. "That may be what has happened," he agreed, his thigh twitching as his prison stung him mercilessly. "The Force works in mysterious ways. It's your turn," he prodded.

"Oh, for … " Kenobi sighed, then lifted his head resignedly and fixed a stare on something directly behind Qui-Gon. "Something red," he announced decisively.

"What?" Qui-Gon demanded, instinctively trying to turn around and failing as the device held him in place. "What are you looking at? That's not fair!"

Kenobi kept his gaze firmly locked over Qui-Gon's immobilized shoulder. "Sorry. Something red."

"Alright, fine," Qui-Gon groused, giving in reluctantly. "You win. I'll stop."

Kenobi chuckled quietly, an odd sound amidst the gore and red spatter surrounding him. A little piece of the wall he was struggling so fervently to maintain chipped away and he gazed at Qui-Gon somberly. "I'm sorry that I've caused you so much trouble, Master Jinn. And I'm sorry that you're here as well."

"It's not your doing that brought me here, Padawan," Qui-Gon demurred quietly. "I came to help a friend - my old teacher, Master Dooku. I had no idea you were here."

Kenobi opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought the better of it. Instead he paused, then offered softly, "It must be nice to have a friend to help. I … have never had that luxury."

A particularly violent jolt burned across Qui-Gon's shoulderblades and he blinked back tears, hastily snapping out mental fingers to grab the thought before it vanished, knowing it was important, another piece to the puzzle of Obi-Wan Kenobi. "What? No other Padawans at the Temple? Or classmates?"

"We … traveled a lot, once I was chosen by Master Rhagos," Kenobi explained matter-of-factly, glossing succintly over his loneliness. "I was almost never at the Temple so I - " Kenobi shifted suddenly, breaking off mid-sentence with a gasp as he groaned lightly. "No, please," he murmured softly, "I'm not ready."

Qui-Gon picked up on his alarm instantly, as the humming continually surrounding Kenobi intensified, both in his ears and his mind. "Padawan?"

"_No_," Kenobi whispered, slumping further against his restraints, leaning against the chains until his manacled wrists pinched white, rocking back and forth slowly. "He's coming…"

Qui-Gon experienced a sickening sense of déjà vu, remembering months ago before the headaches had started, that one day, the last day he had seen Kenobi before the Padawan had disappeared for ten months.

"Padawan," he said firmly, an uneasiness starting to trickle through his frozen limbs. "You need to focus. Listen to me, Padawan."

"_No…"_ Kenobi breathed, his head lolling limply.

"_**Obi-Wan**_," Qui-Gon pressed urgently, snapping the words out with a forcefulness he had to reach deep to command. "Listen to my voice! Focus on me, Obi-Wan." It was a desperate gamble, but it was what they had - "find the bond between us in your mind," he commanded, as he closed his eyes and _reached _desperately, searching for the embryonic link he and Kenobi shared.

Kenobi lifted his head, bright tears shining in the pained depths of his grey eyes, but the haze was clearing and he looked at Qui-Gon obediently, willingly, the alacrity of the eager, innocent Padawan he had once been flashing across his young face. For just a moment, lucidity returned and Kenobi finally mumbled reluctantly, almost unwilling to share the knowledge of an ability that apparently pained him greatly,

"I occasionally have visions of what is to be, Master Jinn," he offered quietly. "I know what's going to happen. I'm going to hurt you, and I won't be able to stop myself."

"You can't know that," Qui-Gon reassured calmly, eyes still closed, locating the Bond that for whatever reason Kenobi was struggling to keep from him. It was weak, thready, but he latched onto it tenaciously. "Stay focused, Padawan, and we'll be fine. Once Master Dooku finds out what Rhagos has done … "

Hearing Kenobi's pained gasp cut off his soothing words and Qui-Gon opened his eyes in time to watch the cloudiness seep back into the Padawan's deadening gaze, a detached fear that stole all the life from him and returned him to the empty shell Qui-Gon was so familiar with and frustrated by.

"I'm sorry," Kenobi whispered plaintively. "I don't have the strength to fight him anymore … I never do in the end…"

"Stay with me, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon begged sharply, feeling genuine fear sink into his battered mind despite the thought-disrupting effects of his prison as he realized their time was drawing short and their options were regrettably few. Despite his earlier encouragement to Kenobi, he knew they didn't stand a chance against Rhagos in their current state - _we need to find Master Dooku_, he realized. _He's our best chance. _

"I can't… " One brief flash of terrified honesty that Qui-Gon almost wished hadn't surfaced when Kenobi said quietly,

"Please don't let me hurt you, Master Qui-Gon." His gaze was deadly serious as it locked onto Qui-Gon's. "Please just kill me."

"No," Qui-Gon refuted immediately, discarding the request without another thought. "I can't do that."

"Please!" Kenobi begged fervently, clenching his teeth against the involuntary whimpers that slid past his lips. He gasped, trembling in his restraints, tears starting to build on his eyelashes. "I can't hurt anyone else," he sobbed, panting, jerking, pulling against the chains binding him to the walls, "but I can't stop him… please … please … "

The door slid open and Qui-Gon tore his eyes away from the tortured Padawan, hoping to see Dooku ready to assist, here literally to save their lives, but to his crashing dismay only Rhagos entered and Qui-Gon could see the dark clouds of fury swirling around him, his anger making the air crackle. Kenobi twisted and whimpered senselessly, keening insensibly.

"I have had _**enough**_," Rhagos announced viciously, without preamble. "Enough of the petty games, enough wasted time." He strode forward, grabbing Kenobi's chin and bringing the Padawan's clouded eyes up to meet his own blazing rage. "I have had enough of _**you**_," he hissed, his mouth twisting into a dark parody of a smile as the Padawan tried to scrabble back from his reach, bumping into the wall behind him repeatedly as his body kept moving without his frantically overloaded brain's consent.

"_No_," Kenobi pleaded brokenly, "_I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'll do whatever you ask Master, please … "_

"It's far too late for that, little one, though there is ... one more task I require from you."

Lips peeling fully away from his teeth in a cruel grin, Rhagos moved toward Qui-Gon's side, pressing the controls along the levitation field. The restrictive bands of energy dissipated, dropping the tall Jedi Master ungraciously to the cold floor with a painful _smack! _Fiery darts of hammering agony shot through his palms and knees, his muscles protesting their disuse with a burning that crawled through his throbbing limbs. For the briefest moment he drew in deep, shuddering breaths to regain his center before finally pushing himself resolutely to his knees.

Rhagos eyed him menacingly, malice shining hatefully in the depths of his eyes. "Leave."

Qui-Gon shook his head, his earlier confidence shuddering mightily at the dark energy swirling around Rhagos. "Padawan Kenobi requires healing assistance immediately. I cannot leave him."

"Padawan Kenobi is beyond your aid," Rhagos said succinctly. "But your Master may not yet be."

"What?" The threat in his words was not lost on Qui-Gon. The implication that something was wrong with his master, that Dooku needed his aid immediately overlapped with his desire not to leave Kenobi with this … madman.

"Just go," Rhagos said quietly, gently, and he was once again the kind master Qui-Gon had met earlier; despite the Force demanding that he see through the façade to the monster lurking behind it, Qui-Gon somehow found himself agreeing with Rhagos when the other Master murmured, "There is nothing you can do here. Your master needs you."

Qui-Gon tried not to see the betrayal shining in Kenobi's frantic eyes as he backed slowly toward the door, his mind was already racing ahead: find Dooku - he couldn't challenge Rhagos in his current state, but together they could take on Rhagos and get Kenobi out of this hellhole …

He hurried out of the room and the door hissed closed behind him, but he couldn't help feeling like he was making a very grave mistake…

OOOOOOOOOO

"_Please kill me_."

The whisper tore from shaking lips and Rhagos listened with pleasure, feeling a tightening of his senses and body that was hard to ignore, and he wished in his heart they had more time:

Kenobi was broken, delightfully crumbled into little shards of weeping agony.

And all it had taken was the arrival of Qui-Gon Jinn.

_Well, what do you know, my friend,_ Rhagos thought regretfully, _You were right. _And Dooku had been - Jinn _**was**_ the key, and the proof was in the empty-eyed shell of a man sagging before him.

Rhagos listened to the shaken pleas spilling from Kenobi for a few moments more, reveling in the destruction, the _**fear**_ that he caused. He was genuinely surprised that Jinn had given in as easily as he had - Rhagos knew that _**he**_ would have fought for his Padawan much more viciously, more tenaciously.

But Jinn hadn't impressed him anyway, and Rhagos was far more devoted to his Padawan.

"Well, little one," he announced, and Kenobi's mouth snapped shut, dread lurking in his bloodshot eyes along with a startling slash of betrayal that arrested Rhagos' attention, and the mocking words he'd been about to utter froze in his throat.

Abandonment, oh yes, Obi-Wan should be feeling abandoned.

But, betrayed?

Anger surged back through his mind, his temporary calm screaming for cover as fury roared back to life. How dare _**HIS**_ Padawan feel betrayed by that weakling Qui-Gon Jinn? What else did his foolish Padawan expect from an apprentice of the sniveling worm Dooku?

"It's just you and me," he murmured coldly, pushing his anger down once more, focusing on accomplishing the last task Kenobi would be useful for.

Matted ginger strands carded through his thick fingers as he circled Kenobi's temple lazily, the Padawan's twitching body still jerking away spasmodically. "You see how foolish you were to pin your hopes on others? To think you could form a bond with Jinn and he would rescue you? No," Rhagos shook his head pityingly as Obi-Wan's head dropped with a resigned sigh. "It was a fool's hope, Obi-Wan, and I'm very disappointed you succumbed to such a weakness."

"I am sorry," Kenobi whispered, barely loud enough to hear. "You're right … I should have known better."

"Better than to…?" Rhagos prompted grimly.

"Trust anyone but you," Obi-Wan huffed miserably, and through their faint bond Rhagos could sense his Padawan's genuine hurt, transcending even his physical pain, that Jinn had left him. Rhagos' frown deepened even more as he found that through his bond with Obi-Wan he could actually sense another presence within Obi-Wan's mind, noticeably bright with the Living Force. A chill swept through the Jedi Master, unsettling him as he realized it was Jinn he was sensing - that Dooku _**had**_ also been right about that.

"Let's go," Rhagos demanded vehemently. "We have much to do, little one."

OOOOOOOOOO

Please review! I am hoping this chap was too repetitious and tedious; I feel it was a bit more of the "same old," but it does have a point. So please let me know!


	16. XVI

Another long chapter split into two. Next chap up on schedule next Thursday. Maybe sooner depending on the Muse (which I should just point out is greatly encouraged by feedback ;)

Hopefully easy to tell, but _italics_ are flashbacks.

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Sixteen

"_Wow, you're really strong in the Force, Initiate! Any master would be truly Force-blessed to have you as their Padawan."_

_He been taught diligently that pride was wrong - despair, really, was more his stumbling block - but he couldn't quell the warm rush that washed over him at the master's words. He was a little surprised, also; he hadn't done exceptionally well in this sparring match, because at Master Yoda's urging he'd been focusing more on channeling the Force to guide his actions instinctively rather than simply going through his memorized katas. It was no simple thing for him to blend the two together, but he felt the Force glowing brightly in his mind and it encouraged him, pushed him on, made him stronger - even if he missed a step in a kata here and there. _

_Patience, Master Yoda had said, and patient he would be. _

"_Thank you, Master," he said, ducking his head humbly to hide the crimson sneaking across his cheeks. It was a little difficult to believe anyone would be __**blessed**__ to have clumsy him as a Padawan, but he certainly didn't want to discourage the kind master who had taken a moment to suggest it. _

"_In fact, I may just speak with the Council this very day. You see, I happen to be without a Padawan of my own right now." _

_He lifted his gaze in surprise, grey eyes quickly searching the pleasant face regarding him for hints of teasing. There were none, just a gently encouraging smile, and suddenly his inability to properly infuse his katas completely with the Force didn't seem quite so troubling as it had just moments before. _

"_Would you like to be my Padawan, young Obi-Wan? I have watched your progress for some time and I think we are quite suited for each other."_

_He knew the Master had been watching him - it was hard to miss the large man's exuberant presence. But he hadn't know why - until now. A smile broke across his face like the rising of the sun. "Oh yes, Master Rhagos … "_

"_I think we'll work well together," the Jedi master mused thoughtfully. "Shall we have exciting adventures, little one?"_

"_Oh, yes," he repeated, and the warmth spreading through him was intoxicating - __**he**__ was wanted, the silly little Initiate who always seemed to be tripping over his own feet. __**Him.**__ He couldn't believe it and he thanked the Force fervently. _

"_Well, then, little one, I shall return shortly, how's that? I must tell you that I travel often and am not at the Temple much … would that trouble you?"_

"_No, Master," he answered honestly; he had friends here, many friends, but the chance to be a Padawan, to have his own master, to be __**useful**__ … no, he wouldn't be troubled by traveling with Master Rhagos. He was simply grateful. _

"_Although, Master … " he felt compelled to add, because he was very aware of his own limitations, "I must tell you that I can be … difficult to train." He risked a half-smile, hoped he wasn't saying too much. "So says Master Yoda, anyway - though he says he's just joking, but I'm not so sure."_

_Rhagos smiled, clearly unperturbed by the young boy's revelation. "I am sure I will have no difficulty training you; my methods are most thorough. And I can sense that you are very strong in the Force, very gifted. You're perfect for what I need."_

_He ducked his head shyly. "I … thank you, Master."_

_A warm hand on his shoulder conveyed Rhagos' satisfaction. "Well then, we're in agreement. I'll clear it with the Council, but as far as I'm concerned, you're already my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."_

OoOoOoOo

Qui-Gon was running, his boots slapping against the permacrete as he darted in and out of the labyrinthine of rooms in the old Garosian castle. He couldn't quell the sick feeling he was making a mistake, that he shouldn't have left the gravely fragile Kenobi with the clearly disturbed Rhagos, but he also knew that he couldn't abandon Master Dooku, not after hearing Rhagos' pointed assertion that his old master needed his help.

_A Padawan's duty is to his master, _he told himself, though he knew the reverse was true and that he had turned his back on Kenobi.

_But he's not __**my**__ Padawan._

He had looked nearly everywhere, his body and mind exhausted from both his lack of physical movement during his captivity, and the tortured thoughts that tumbled over each other in his mind. The effects of the constant electric jabs that had been a part of his imprisonment hadn't faded away after his release, and his mind was still a little muddled and hazy.

He scurried into a side room and almost immediately stumbled over something on the floor in front of him. Stooping in confusion, the dim light of the hallway blurring his vision, he was already swallowing back revulsion as his probing hands encountered the still-warm body crumpled near the door. He could already tell there was no life to be found even before his shaking fingers found a ragged hole through the upper back, roughly cauterized as only a lightsaber would do.

His head sank to his chest, unwilling tears stinging his eyes.

_Master … _

He was too late. It had already been too late when he'd left Kenobi behind.

He had been deceived by Rhagos.

OoOoOoOo

"_Damn it, Obi-Wan!"_

_A little older now, a little wiser, but apparently still just as clumsy. He hung his head miserably, knowing it was his fault - he hadn't __**meant**__ to, of course, but that mattered little to either him or his master. _

"_I'm so sorry, Master," he murmured, daring to glimpse at Rhagos' face, not wishing to see the displeasure he knew would be reflected there. Only, instead of looking annoyed, his master looked … awed. _

"'_Sorry', little one?"_

_He rolled his eyes reflexively despite his uneasiness. "__**Please**__ don't call me that, Master. It's so awkward to be reminded of my … shortness."_

_Rhagos grinned, anticipation dancing in his eyes, but something about his master's eager smile was very, very unnerving to him, something not right that was sounding warning bells in his head, and as he watched in confusion his master's gaze unfocussed and he suddenly felt the utterly disturbing and unwelcome sensation of mental fingers sliding through the thin shields protecting his mind. _

"_Master?" he questioned uneasily, automatically backing up a step though his physical movement did nothing to releasing the probing tendrils questing through his thoughts. _

"_What?" Rhagos shook his head quickly, forcing a hasty smile that fooled neither of them for the Padawan could still see the hunger in his master's eyes. "Oh! I'm sorry, Padawan, I shouldn't have started that next exercise without warning you first. Let's try again."_

"_I … " he hesitated, knowing he should obey, but something was __**wrong**__ with Master Rhagos. "I don't think I want to do this," he mumbled desperately, backing away slowly - this was different than their usual bonding exercises, this was more like an __**invasion**__ into his mind. "I don't think I'm ready."_

_His master's hand settled heavily on his shoulder then, arresting his movement and ceasing his backing away. Now he could see a strange light in his master's eyes; his pupils seemed to glow red as his gaze devoured his Padawan hungrily, and the Force cried a warning as unwelcome fingers surged against his collapsing shields, broke past his walls, dug through his mind … _

OoOoOoOo

He hurtled into the basement, staggering and tripping, trying to get back to the Padawan he'd left behind but the room was empty; open, bloody shackles hanging limply in disuse, the levitation field shut down and quiet. He was distraught, the discovery of his master's body still reeling his senses along with all the other abuses his body had suffered, but he wondered how he could have missed their exit, where they could have gone …

At some point, it occurred to his disjointed thoughts to follow the trail of red spatters leading him back up the stairs, down the long hall … He made his way to the docking bay, and as he neared he started to feel a familiar hum at the back of his senses, the hum that belonged to Padawan Kenobi and was even now thrumming through the tenuous bond they somehow shared.

_I'm coming,_ he thought desperately, though there was no indication that anyone had heard him.

The bay was devoid of life but a few speeders were parked along the far wall and there was a space where one of them was missing. He didn't want to do this, he wanted to stay with his master's body, he didn't know if he _**could**_ do this … but he also knew the Padawan's time was running out. If Qui-Gon couldn't find him, Kenobi would die, and it seemed grievously unfair to the Jedi master that the troubled Padawan should rejoin the Force now, before he even had a chance to experience an apprenticeship with a master who would show him kindness, help him heal his wounds and scars …

_Wait a minute_.

He pulled himself up short just as he was about to lever himself into an empty speeder, set to pursue the Padawan. _I thought you weren't taking on another Padawan ever again_, he told himself firmly.

_That's right,_ he agreed with himself. _I'm not. I'm just_ …

Qui-Gon sighed.

… _just not fooling anyone._

They needed each other.

It wasn't just that the ailing Padawan needed him, though Kenobi certainly did. Hell, Kenobi could probably use help from _**anyone**_right now.

He needed Kenobi.

If he could just find him.

OoOoOoOo

"_Wh-what are you doing?"_

_Much older now, not wiser really so much as more jaded, layers and layers of shields insulating his mind and emotions from the outside and the things he had seen, had done at his master's behest. It was wrong to disobey his master, he knew, but this couldn't be right, __**he**__ couldn't be doing the right things. But he had even quietly asked another Jedi Master they traveled with sometimes, Master Dooku, if what he was doing was the will of the Force, and Master Dooku had assured him that the means justified the ends, that he __**was**__ doing right …_

"_Master?" His voice sounded so wilting, so weak it bothered him to hear the quavering words slipping past his lips. He was better than this, he was stronger than this, he - _

"_I'm just trying something, little one."_

_His master's voice was oily in his ear and he trembled without meaning to, immediately struggling to clamp down on his body's involuntarily reactions - Master Rhagos did not like it when he wriggled, not at all. _

"_Please, Master, I'm so tired," he protested, adding with a glare he couldn't help, "I have so little energy after you send me to do your dirty work."_

_Rhagos shrugged. "You know what Alinda likes, and she thinks you're … delicious," he added with a smirk, but he covered with a somber, proud smile. "And you know we wouldn't be able to help others as much as we do without the supplies she provides. She's been very good to us, you know," to which the Padawan nodded in weary agreement. "Sometimes she just needs a little extra compensation."_

"_That's what I like to be thought of as," he responded dryly. "a little extra."_

"_Oh, little one, you know you're irreplaceable." his master said with a grin. "Now, be still while I practice."_

_He stiffened again. "Please don't … "_

_His master's hand on his shoulder was supposed to reassure him, but he knew what came next and he couldn't cease the shaking that tore through his body, tense nerves already at the breaking point overloading, exploding, burning white hot, blinding his senses, and he heard through his writhing agony his master's patient voice … _

"_You've been given a great ability, Obi-Wan, the capacity to allow others to channel through your gift of the Force."_

"_But it hurts," he whimpered; he could feel his shields trembling and quailing and his knees were so weak … he was falling but his master held his arm firmly, keeping him from hitting the ground even when he only wanted to curl into a tight, unfeeling ball of misery. _

"_But we're so much stronger together, aren't we?" his master soothed. "I need you, Obi-Wan, I need what you can do."_

_His eyes were closed but he if he opened them he knew he would see his master's shining, earnest face; so proud of him and what they could accomplish. But he couldn't believe in it anymore, couldn't believe in his master's cause. Not when it brought so much grief, so much anguish to himself and others. _

_He had to get away._

OoOoOoOo

Reviews get chapter updates and more naked Obi-Wan stories. If you're not into naked Obi-Wan stories, reviews get you chapter updates and chocolate-covered Obi-Wan stories. If you're not into either of those, I may not be able to help you. ;)


	17. XVII

Past the holidays and back to business! Just one question for those who so graciously reviewed (thank you!) and also asked for another naked Obi-Wan installment: are we talking humorous naked Obi, or serious sexy Kenobi? I can do either, or both in one, just let me know what the consensus is and if there are any specific ideas/requests. ;D

As always, thank you ver' ver' much for taking a moment to review and feed the Muse. Much appreciated!

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Seventeen

The wind screeching past his face tugged at his hair, whipping the long, grey-flecked strands free of their binding and flinging them across his face as the speeder he was piloting sped through the darkness.

It had started as a crackle through his mind, a precursor to the headaches he had become agonizingly familiar with. When he tried to brush it aside, the growing link he had unwittingly fostered with Kenobi flickered and began to fade and he lost sense of the padawan's location; so he clenched his teeth and focused on the headache, reaching through the Force to follow the trail over scorched and rent earth through the arid night air to find the lost Jedi.

At some point, Qui-Gon noted that Kenobi's Signature was growing steadily stronger and he surmised correctly that the pair must have stopped moving and he was gaining ground. Hope surged through him and he pointed the nose of the small speeder on until eventually he came upon a small settlement. His lined brow rumpled in confusion as he realized that it was clearly part of what had once been a larger colony, haphazardly constructed over the skeletal remains of buildings that had been established, Qui-Gon recognized, before the Sundari had invaded ruthlessly, pillaging the Garosians' rich natural resources and burning as they went. Qui-Gon felt a deep, penetrating sorrow lancing across his soul as he realized that he could still sense the essences of the Garosians brutally slaughtered where his speeder now hovered: their howls of agony and fear bit into the Force, restlessly mournful and eternally unceasing.

Qui-Gon clambered carefully from the speeder, trying to scale back the throbbing in his head for he no longer needed to focus on the pain to locate Kenobi: the padawan and his master stood amidst a circle of dozens of cheering, shoving Garosians. Crumpled bodies in grotesque positions littered the ground around them, and even from outside the undulating, frothing circle of palpable excitement Qui-Gon could discern that the bodies were not Garosian; a disturbing nausea unsettled his gut as he took in the mutilated and destroyed Sundari corpses in varying stages of freshness and decay.

Dead, dry earth cracked under his feet, the sobbing terra adding its own sorrowful mourning to the cacophony of wailing assaulting his senses. It was almost too much for the Jedi Master to bear, the twisting woe of the Living Force assailing him on top of his already merciless headache but he forged on, mounting pressure and his increasing sense of dread compelling him to continue searching for a way to ease the torment driving into his skull.

Flickering tongues of flame from a raging bonfire cast dancing shadows against the walls of makeshift shelters erected amidst the rubble of ruined buildings and Qui-Gon realized grimly that if _**this**_ was all the Jedi teams had managed to accomplish in their rebuilding efforts, they were shamefully failing the Garosians with their incompetent attempts. It occurred to Qui-Gon suddenly that Dooku had been assigned here, and he felt a fresh pang of grief added to his still-new sorrow at his master's horrific demise.

But that was a reflection for a time when he _**had**_ time to consider it. Now, clearly not acceptable for the concerned Jedi to ruminate on his loss: the crowd was reaching fever pitch, their jeers and cheering loud in his ears, adding to the pain in his head and setting his teeth on edge. Qui-Gon had assisted in quelling many riots before, but this was _different_. There was a sense of awe in the air blending with bloodthirsty anticipation, a raging need for _vengeance_ rolling through the salivating crowd.

Pushing the Force through his weary limbs, begging for strength to endure, Qui-Gon shoved his way through the circle roughly, parting the cheering onlookers. Kenobi stood at the center, held firmly in place by Rhagos; across from the pair, a live Sundari cowered, trembling and crying quietly. The noise from the small crowd was surprisingly loud to Qui-Gon's oversensitive hearing, hooting and howling as they pressed in excitedly.

Qui-Gon had a bad feeling about this.

He stumbled to the front, staggering into the rim of the firelight just in time to see Kenobi's upraised finger twitch and the sobbing Sundari _explode_ in a spray of gore and pale green blood.

The Garosians roared in approval.

Qui-Gon couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't believe that his beloved Force was being used for something so _**evil**_.

Somehow, he found his voice.

"Stop this at once!" he bellowed over the noise, the Force carrying his words clearly to the other Jedi. Rhagos swung to face him and Kenobi slumped in his master's grip, the disconcerting, blazing black of his eyes dimming to grey as they locked disbelievingly onto Qui-Gon, shame and betrayal struggling for dominance in his watery gaze.

"What are you doing?" Qui-Gon demanded fiercely, striving to sound firm as his body stumbled with weakness he shared with Kenobi; the padawan whimpered but was otherwise quiet while Qui-Gon glared ominously, waiting for a reply. The Garosians hushed instantly at the disruption of their murderous activities, many of them dispersing into quietly grumbling and chittering clusters as they unhappily perceived their evening's entertainment had come to a premature end, despite their awed approval at the display of Jedi power they had just witnessed - many of them with pale green spatters decorating their simple clothing.

"What is the meaning of this, Master Rhagos?" Qui-Gon continued, his voice deathly quiet.

Rhagos smiled coldly, oblivious to or perhaps enjoying the carnage surrounding him. "I see you have decided to join us once again, Qui-Gon. Would you care to assist?"

Qui-Gon flashed his hand about angrily, encompassing the bloodshed with a wave. "Assist you with _**this**_?" he demanded tersely. "What the hell is _**wrong**_ with you?"

"We are _**helping**_," Rhagos announced with a placating smirk that immediately dug under Qui-Gon's skin, the Jedi's already frayed nerves unraveling further. "Obi-Wan is helping me heal the broken Garosian spirit."

Qui-Gon redirected his gaze to Kenobi, his scowl boring into the younger man. "Padawan?"

Kenobi was swaying in Rhagos' grip, clearly unable to support even his own slight weight on his ravaged leg. He shook his head, large grey eyes filled with unshed tears, but kept his mouth firmly closed.

"Oh come, Obi-Wan," Rhagos prodded graciously, shaking Kenobi a little like a wet baby nek. "Master Qui-Gon asked you a question. Answer him, please."

Kenobi's voice was slow and thick, the words falling sluggishly from his lips as he struggled to comply obligingly. "He is aiding the Garosians in taking revenge against the Sundari, a few at a time." Kenobi's drawn face was haunted as he shook his head, the first of his tears streaking red down his pallid, bloody cheek. "I've killed so many," he whispered brokenly. "I didn't want to … I can't help it, he makes me … "

"Obi-Wan," Rhagos clucked patronizingly, shoring up his grip on his padawan, "you're so modest. After all, it wouldn't work if you didn't _**want**_ to do it."

At the distressed look flashing across Kenobi's panicked face, Qui-Gon interrupted sharply,

"All right, this is enough. You're coming back to Coruscant with me, both of you." He settled a dark glower on Rhagos. "You have much to answer for," he warned, the memory of his master's cooling body vivid in his mind. His large frame, still unbalanced from the effects of prolonged exposure to Rhagos' levitation field, was trembling with anger he was trying desperately to suppress; he reached for the Living Force, pleading with it to dispel his dark emotions and bring strength to his weakness - he had swiftly recognized he would need to be cautious with the unpredictable Jedi.

Rhagos merely smiled, cold and evil and promising, before asking Kenobi softly, "Shall we show him what you can do, little one?"

That brought a little life to the nearly insensible Kenobi; he twitched furtively in his master's grasp, his ineffectual resistance pathetic yet it widened the grin on Rhagos' face as he looked on his student approvingly. "No!" Kenobi gasped. "Don't, please!"

Qui-Gon stepped closer sharply, barely two meters from the other Jedi; close enough to see the instability in Kenobi's eyes and the light of unbridled madness erupting in Rhagos' black stare. "I'll have no more of this - "

Rhagos waved his hand almost lazily and Kenobi lurched and gasped, paling as his master stole from him energy he already could not afford to lose. Qui-Gon felt himself being lifted off the ground, the tips of his boots barely grazing the dead earth below his feet. He called on the Force desperately for a rebuttal, but in his weakened state and with the addition of Kenobi's power Rhagos clearly had the upper hand. A few of the Garosians still lingering about the firelight's edge moved in closer, their ridged brows creasing with interest as they perceived the Jedi's garish activities may not yet be over.

"Don't do this, Master … " Kenobi choked helplessly, enraged tears streaming from his eyes as he struggled uselessly to free himself. "Just let him go… "

Rhagos turned on his Padawan fiercely, his gaze dark while Qui-Gon looked on powerlessly, caught in a grip he, like Kenobi, could not escape. "You will not intercede for him again, Obi-Wan," he hissed. "Am I understood?"

"Rhagos!" Qui-Gon barked past the invisible fist compressing his chest and arching his body backward at an unnaturally excruciating angle, "You must stop this!"

Rhagos threw him a sneer, bitter and mocking. "Your words have caused more than enough damage already," he spat, and Qui-Gon could see bright red overtaking the Master's eyes; he had enough time to wonder how the hell he and Kenobi were going to make it out alive before Rhagos clenched his fist, the fingertips of his right hand still buried firmly in Kenobi's shoulder. Qui-Gon heard a _pop!_ echo in his ears as one of his molars exploded, instantly filling his mouth with warm, salty blood as hot pain erupted in his cheek. He gurgled and choked past the fiery agony, spitting out shards of blood and tooth, ruthless torment beating in time with his pulsating headache.

But he wouldn't - couldn't - give in.

"Padawan!" he ground out, spitting the words out in a spray of red, "focus! Focus, Obi-Wan - you're stronger than he is! Push him out of your mind!"

"I'm sorry!" Kenobi gasped, "I'm sorry! Please stop!" he begged uselessly, and through his pain Qui-Gon could see that the Darkness was growing around Rhagos, the danger in the air multiplying and strengthening, insensible words that were screaming in his head but he couldn't make sense of them over the hum of building power in Kenobi's Signature.

"You're pathetic!" Rhagos spat, burying a hand in Kenobi's ginger hair and jerking hard, snapping the padawan's head back. "Feeble! And useless," he murmured. "I already warned you about interfering… " he said lowly, and Kenobi's eyes widened fearfully, but Rhagos added, almost gleefully despite his quiet tone, "and yet I recall that you have already interceded for our new friend once; I think it only fair that Master Jinn do the same for you, don't you?"

Kenobi groaned wretchedly, sagging weakly against the source of his pain; Rhagos in turn clutched his padawan possessively, one hand clawing through his hair, the other upraised to keep Qui-Gon suspended painfully. This hand he lowered suddenly, and Qui-Gon dropped to the ground abruptly with a moan, his left ankle twisting under him sharply.

Qui-Gon lifted a shaking hand to wipe at the sticky blood trickling from his mouth and pushed himself to his knees, racking his brain and the Force for an idea - _**any**_ idea. Rhagos stroked Kenobi's cheek with his free hand. "My dear Padawan," he murmured with satisfaction, "I require your assistance one final time. Let us be rid of Master Jinn so you can be free."

Rhagos' free hand rose up to clench Kenobi's shoulder in a flash of hot light and Kenobi screamed, the tortured sound ripping through the air and into Qui-Gon's skull like a dozen razor-sharp knives. Qui-Gon dropped his head into his upraised palm, unwitting tears of anguish crowding into his eyes, his uncontained cry joining Kenobi's in their mutual suffering.

"Good only as a pawn," Rhagos breathed into his twitching Padawan's ear, "but you do excel at that." He released his grip on Kenobi's hair to gesture sharply and Kenobi's curled fingers shot up, a grotesque imitation of Rhagos' own arched hand. "Nooo … " Kenobi barely had the chance to moan before lightning, bright white and searing, shot from his fingertips, racing toward the cowering Jedi Master. Qui-Gon saw it coming, knew what was about to happen, but his feet weren't able to register his brain's command to _move! _before the blazing arc slammed into his chest, tearing into his clothing and scorching his skin in curls of smoke and agony. Qui-Gon's tormented shout joined Kenobi's impotent howl of anger as his body twisted and writhed under the assault.

Wave after wave of lightning slammed into the Jedi Master already curled on the ground thrashing spastically. He tried to gasp out Kenobi's name, to beg him to do _**something**_, but the words died in his bloody mouth. Kenobi's mind was inaccessible, a maelstrom of disjointed images and memories, rife with terror and instability.

But he had to try; he couldn't hold on to consciousness much longer, and when he succumbed they would both be lost.

_Obi-Wan,_ he thought desperately, _Please … _

OoOoOoOo

_He had to get away. _

_His opportunity was so slim, but he had to take the chance. He hadn't spoken with Master Yoda since he was an Initiate, but somehow he knew the old Jedi would help him. He knew that it was wrong to desert his master, but he simply couldn't do this anymore. _

_He had to get away. _

OoOoOoOo

Rhagos finally released Kenobi and the padawan slumped to the ground, his chest heaving for breath.

"Don't make him angry don't make him angry please oh Force … " Kenobi babbled obliviously, the torrent of words tumbling from him as he shook uncontrollably, fear and revulsion staining ebony the Force essence around him. Tears streamed from his eyes, his bruised face a contorted mass of torment. "_Help me_," he sobbed, "please!"

The Darkness continued to grow.

OoOoOoOo

_The Jedi Council took him back. To his great relief, they promised to help him. _

_But first, they made him face his master again._

_He shouldn't have had to, didn't want to, but they demanded that Rhagos sever their training bond. The Temple's healers were watching carefully to make sure that nothing went wrong, that the bond was peacefully dissolved even while Master Rhagos continued to proclaim his innocence, demanding with wounded confusion to know why his Padawan would abandon him so. But he agreed to do it; agreed, devastated, that if it was better for his clearly unstable padawan then he would certainly submit - they could heal Padawan Kenobi and then they could be reunited, master and padawan, as they were meant to be. _

_The healers watched, believing in their naiveté that the Jedi Master would be true to his word and gently sever the bond._

_They believed him because they were fools. Because they didn't know his master like __**he**__ did. He started to tell them so when he saw his master smile, Rhagos' burning fingertips already placed against his temple. Nausea boiled in his stomach - he had to say something! Open your mouth, Kenobi, hurry up open your mouth and __**stop him**__!_

_Rhagos severed the bond. _

_He had known pain as a youngling: skinned knees and cut lips, clumsy little Obi-Wan tripping over his own boots or slipping on the slick rocks in the Room of a Thousand Fountains because he'd wanted to touch the water._

_He'd known pain as an Initiate: he'd broken his arm when he'd missed a block in a sparring march and twisted his ankle on an ice skating outing. _

_He'd known pain as a Padawan: along with the multitude of physical injuries sustained in the name of peacekeeping, he'd learned too the biting gouge of betrayal, the nervousness and soul-crushing despair of waiting in __**her**__ room for her to arrive - and not just her, for between his pleasant face and impressive gift of the Unifying Force, he quickly became his master's favorite bargaining chip for whenever a situation required … extra incentive, be it a little piece of Jedi to brag about, or a mouthy rival who needed to be silenced. _

_He had known pain of all types and degrees. _

_But he had never known pain like this. _

OoOoOoOo

Qui-Gon pushed himself hazily to his knees, queasily registering that the nauseating smell of burning flesh was emanating from him. He was uncertain who Kenobi's frantic cry was addresses to but he could feel the pulsing darkness swirling through the night …

"We are done here," Rhagos announced with a snarl, reaching to his belt and producing a lightsaber. Qui-Gon groaned at the sight of the humming blue blade that sprung forth, certain that the weapon he was eyeing was the same that had slain his master. Rhagos stalked toward him purposefully, his saber cutting a swath of light through the darkness.

"_Stop_ … "

This from Kenobi but both masters ignored it. Rhagos lifted his lightsaber over his head, prepared to swing downwards and end Qui-Gon's life.

Somehow, Kenobi yanked himself to his feet, glowering angrily as defiance radiated from his tense and shaking stance. He was trembling as he made a swift motion with his hand, and Rhagos' lightsaber slipped from the Jedi Master's sweat-slicked hands to land neatly in Kenobi's waiting palm.

Kenobi took one faltering step toward the pair, his wounded leg dragging behind him and he almost stumbled. Shocked by his unexpected loss of control of the situation, Rhagos turned swiftly away from Qui-Gon, a pleased smile lighting his face.

"You wish to do it yourself?" he asked triumphantly. "You wish to strike down the famed Qui-Gon Jinn?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. "I wish to be free of _**you**_," he said softly. He beckoned sharply and Rhagos began to slide toward his former padawan; comprehension dawned on the master's features, the frightening red faded from his eyes. His feet scrabbled wildly for purchase on the small pebbles below his boots, panic written across his writhing features. From where he sat in the dirt, frozen in shock and pain, Qui-Gon's mind flashed back to almost a year before, when he and Kenobi had sparred briefly at the Temple; Kenobi had lost control suddenly, almost carving into the Jedi master with his practice lightsaber.

Kenobi had the same look now; his mind was clearly somewhere else, but Qui-Gon could also tell that a part of the tortured Padawan knew exactly what he was doing.

Perspiration streamed down Kenobi's face, his concentration unwavering as he fought his master for control.

OoOoOoOo

_There was shouting and pushing and suddenly Master Yoda was beside him, his large eyes worried. _

"_So sorry we are, Padawan," he barely heard through the burning across his mind, racing through his connection to the Force as their bond severed - but his master was still there, he could still feel him even though the bond had died. _

_And from that moment on, he could always feel the Darkness in his mind, and the hum that never stopped. _

OoOoOoOo

The roaring in his ears was deafening as Kenobi's control unraveled, even their weak link pulsing and humming in his mind. Qui-Gon reached for the Padawan, to no effect; he was too far away and Kenobi was too far gone. Rhagos was between the pair, pleading and struggling against Kenobi's pull.

"Obi-Wan…?" Rhagos whispered.

Kenobi jerked his fist and screaming, Rhagos hurtled through the air. Red mist obscured Qui-Gon's eyes for a moment and when his vision cleared, the sight that greeted him was Kenobi's impossibly stiff frame, shaking hands clutching the lightsaber, on the end of which Rhagos hung limply, impaled cleanly through the chest. Kenobi dropped his gory burden and sank to the ground, sobbing. Qui-Gon dredged up the strength to crawl to the padawan's side and collapse by the young man, both breathing heavily and not quite comprehending what had just happened.

Eventually Qui-Gon drifted into darkness that may have lasted for moments or hours, and he later opened his eyes, blinking slowly and painfully, his eyelids feeling weighted with the Temple rocks Yoda had made him scrub countless times as an Initiate for all of his minor though numerous infractions. How glad he had been to be assigned as a padawan and out from under Yoda's micromanaging little thumb.

A breathless laugh gusted against his ear and he realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, though he couldn't understand Kenobi's amusement, now of all times. "What?" he asked curiously.

"Yoda … micromanaging," Kenobi scraped painfully. "You know … I thought it was a pun … because he's so small."

"Oh." Qui-Gon chuckled in surprise, running weary fingers through Kenobi's damp hair gently. "That's funny." He offered Kenobi a small smile. "Thank you," he said softly.

Kenobi nodded wearily, sagging back against Qui-Gon's shoulder exhaustedly and Qui-Gon continued to card the damp ginger hair carefully. "Good job, Padawan."

The humming had stopped.

OoOoOoOo

Please review! I'm late for work because I wanted to post this chapter! lol.


	18. XVIII

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Eighteen

A year later than the last time they had stood in Qui-Gon's quarters at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, they were back in his common room.

A year later, they surveyed each other quietly, noting the changes the other had garnered with the passage of that time; a drop in the proverbial bucket as far as a lifetime could go, but a cruel year that had wrought its gritty changes without mercy or regard to the horrors each man had already faced.

Both had lost weight. Both were still pale, with haunted eyes set above gaunt cheekbones.

Both had lost a master, though only one had been directly responsible for the death of his.

Both were a little more jaded, a little more cynical, a little less inclined to trust.

And right now, neither knew what to say.

OoOoOoOo

The air in his apartment had been rank, the smell of rotten vegetation and stale, unmoving air hanging over the long-unused rooms in a heavy, bleak cloud that couldn't be permeated; he could see how steadily the condition of his quarters had degenerated, could see the depressingly apathetic turn his life had taken after Kenobi had vanished and the headaches had begun.

Desolate and hopeless, his rooms had uncannily reflected the state of the two Jedi carted back from Garos in pieces that the healers quickly and expertly set about putting back together.

Qui-Gon himself had sustained severe electrical burns and was suffering from mild dehydration and malnutrition. Padawan Kenobi … well, there was little to be said about the young man; the healers assigned to him simply set their jaws grimly and started to work.

They had since been treated and released from the healer's wing, Qui-Gon a little sooner than Kenobi though they both had a long way to go in their respective healing. Their infirmities, however, hadn't stopped the Council from questioning them over and over, grilling them relentlessly about the Jedi teams assigned to Garos, the murdered Sundari, the horrific and lamentable deaths of Jedi Masters Dooku and Rhagos. The Council had been gentle but firm, and after his own unofficial hearing Qui-Gon had unobtrusively watched from the shadows as Kenobi wilted under the repeated insistence of the Council that old wounds be dug open and exposed to the light and old scars be freshly split and expunged - that he tell them _**everything**_ he had done and endured under the tutelage of Master Rhagos - the man he had murdered.

Privately Qui-Gon thought it grossly unfair that the young man be forced to do this in such a public and humiliating way, even as he understood that the entire Council - not just Master Yoda and Mace Windu as had known before - should hear the truth in order to exonerate Kenobi.

He shuddered and at times his softly accented voice broke, but Kenobi was made of sterner material than Qui-Gon had anticipated, even despite seeing evidence of the padawan's determined fortitude on Garos. Kenobi went over his history for the Council very, very carefully, his tone more than a bit challenging as he retold the part about being forced by the Council to face Master Rhagos again after his escape and the brutal severing of their training bond that had followed. The seated members who had been on the Council during that time exchanged guiltily uneasy glances, and the thought _good for him!_ flashed through Qui-Gon's mind as he gave the young man a smile he wouldn't be able to see; the Council _**deserved **_the condemnation lurking below Kenobi's carefully polite voice.

Throughout it all, however, Qui-Gon watched as little pieces of Kenobi chipped away as he laid his soul _almost_ bare. Only Qui-Gon - and perhaps Yoda - felt the miniscule shivers along the bond they shared that indicated that Kenobi was … omitting … some details in his story.

Qui-Gon watched the pieces chip away, watched as the painfully straight shoulders slowly became rounded and stooped, watched as Kenobi draped himself more and more heavily over his cane for support during the proceedings. He watched as a man who was already only barely holding himself together was taken apart systematically piece by piece, his entire training history and actions questioned and re-questioned by a Council who couldn't quite seem to believe what they were hearing, couldn't seem to believe that one of their own could have made such _questionable _decisions.

And Qui-Gon watched from the shadows, as the only "official" capacity he currently shared with Kenobi being "fellow survivor." Had he been Kenobi's master, he knew he would be standing beside the young man under the too-bright lights of the Council chamber rather than forgotten in the recesses of the room, letting Kenobi lean against him for support instead of standing alone. Instead, Qui-Gon had been relegated to backseat status, and only pleading and wheedling with Yoda had even gotten him into the room.

Yoda.

Qui-Gon's brow rumpled in confused irritation. Until now, the old Jedi had been Kenobi's staunchest supporter. Until now, he had been the one who had sheltered Kenobi and given him another chance by assigning him to Qui-Gon before his disappearance.

Now, he sat coldly, impassively watching the barefaced pain of the man standing before him pulled to the surface and exposed to the light without a word of encouragement or strength.

_**Something**_ must have changed.

But what? Qui-Gon had listened for hours upon hours as Kenobi was questioned, and though at times the padawan's broken words of torment and transgressions both reluctant and willing had stirred his own soul to weeping, he couldn't find within Kenobi's narrative the fault that Yoda was so clearly settling on the young Jedi's shoulders, couldn't find, as it were, the rope the old master was using to hang the one he had once pronounced such promise in.

And so Qui-Gon watched uneasily, a sick feeling in his stomach. Kenobi was pale and sweating and still they pushed on, asking, demanding, taking. Finally, Qui-Gon could stand it no more; he pushed his way to the front of the room to stand in the glaring light next to Kenobi.

"Masters, that is enough," he said firmly, ignoring the startled looks some of the junior Council members turned on him; the older members, almost humorously, accepted his intrusion as the commonplace event that it was. Kenobi gave him a surprised but grateful glance as the Council set their collective expectant glare on Qui-Gon. "You are repeating questions you have already asked," Qui-Gon pronounced. "It is time to let Padawan Kenobi go home."

"Home?" Yoda asked, his voice soft and disdainful yet clear in the now-quiet chamber. "No master within the Temple he has, Qui-Gon. Proposing he goes, where are you?"

"He will come with me," Qui-Gon said with finality. Barely waiting for Mace's reluctant but approving nod, he hooked an arm through Kenobi's elbow gently, preparing to steer the other Jedi from the room.

"Padawan Kenobi," Yoda's voice cut through the silence sharply. "Stand firm do you on your request to leave the Temple?"

The blood drained from Qui-Gon's face at the master's words; he shouldn't have been surprised, wasn't sure why he cared, but somehow it didn't seem _**right**_ that Kenobi should leave now…

Kenobi looked at Qui-Gon, deep sadness and regret in his eyes before answering, "I do, Master."

Yoda nodded slowly, his disapproval coloring his tone strongly yet he said, "Approve your request, this Council does, despite my wishes." He paused imperiously, adding almost regretfully, "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

OoOoOoOo

And now here they stood in Qui-Gon's quarters, eyeing each other warily, assessing the other as they had a year before.

Kenobi broke the silence first, leaning tiredly on his cane, his expression one of profound weariness. Qui-Gon could relate. Kenobi had already collected his duffels from his room of one week, the few things he carried with him.

"I'm ready to go, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Please don't do this, Padawan."

"No," Kenobi said softly, shaking his head, "I've already packed my bags; I hate to undo all that hard work." He flashed Qui-Gon a curious half-smile the Master knew covered how he really felt, adding, "They can't expel me; I'm leaving."

"Expel you?" Qui-Gon questioned in confusion. "Why would - "

"Thank you, Master Jinn, for your patience and hospitality," Kenobi interrupted, stating the formal words quietly. Qui-Gon nodded at him slowly and Kenobi turned away; he paused at the door, just staring at it.

Qui-Gon found his voice, buried somewhere past the lump in his throat and a pain in his chest.

"Padawan … Obi-Wan," he said gently. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to, Obi-Wan."

Kenobi's shoulders slumped. "You don't know," he whispered. "The things I've done. The things I _was_ before this." Having heard most of Kenobi's testimony before the Council, Qui-Gon had a pretty good idea of what many of those things were, and he had to admit they chilled him. Honestly, he was amazed that Kenobi was functioning at all.

Kenobi turned on him angrily, his hand cutting through the air sharply as he gestured forcefully. "I _**hurt**_ you! How can you even look at me with anything less than hatred and distrust?"

Qui-Gon drew himself up sternly, pity taking a firm foothold in his heart. He reached out a hand to steady the trembling man before him.

"Obi-Wan," he murmured softly. "When I look at you I see a young man who possesses an amazing grasp of the Living Force. I see a man who has survived despite his circumstances. I see a man of courage and determination." His gaze bored into the glistening grey eyes fixed on his. He gentled his voice even further. "I see a Padawan, a child, who _**should**_ have been protected, used by the one entrusted with his care."

Kenobi's face dropped to the ground; it was all he could do to hide the tears streaking their steady way down his pale cheeks. "You don't _know_," he whispered.

"No, I don't," Qui-Gon agreed easily. "But, Obi-Wan, look at you. You're lonely and hurting. You need help. I would," he swallowed hard but was infinitely convinced of the _rightness_ of the next words he uttered, "be honored to have you as my Padawan-learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Kenobi eyes brightened but his smile was sad as he regarded Qui-Gon. "I believe you, Master Jinn. And I think … " he hesitated, "I think it would have been nice."

Qui-Gon felt his heart sink as Kenobi said formally, "Goodbye, Master Jinn. May the Force be with you."

He could barely get the words past the tightness in his throat as Kenobi stepped through the door as it slid open for his departure.

"And with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

OoOoOoOo

Qui-Gon stood in his entryway, his head resting against the cool door, waiting for Mace or Yoda to enter and tell him what a mistake he was making by letting Kenobi go. How they needed each other. How they could save each other.

He waited.

And waited.

And eventually he realized that he didn't need anyone to tell him what he already knew.

Qui-Gon took off for the Temple exits at a run, his boots slapping against the highly polished floor, praying he wasn't too late and wondering how he would find Kenobi if the ex-Padawan had already left the Temple grounds.

His worries were in vain. Obi-Wan Kenobi was seated on a bench outside, quietly watching the sun sink into the building-littered horizon. His duffels lay in a heap at his feet.

Qui-Gon settled himself beside the young man quietly, just sitting, and waiting. Finally, Kenobi murmured,

"It's all I ever wanted," he admitted softly. "To be a Jedi. I thought … " his words caught in his throat; he swallowed, shaking his head abruptly but not before Qui-Gon noted the despair flashing through grey eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing," he whispered forlornly.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon put a large, warm hand on Kenobi's thin shoulder; the man flinched but didn't shy away though Qui-Gon could feel him trembling. A memory surfaced in Qui-Gon's mind of Rhagos, his hand twisted over Kenobi's shoulder, white light -

Qui-Gon blinked hastily, jerking his hand from Kenobi's shoulder to his forearm quickly, and they shared a chagrined look at the memory.

"You see?" Obi-Wan pointed out softly. "It would never work."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said sternly, "he took from you what he needed and gave you empty promises in return. You couldn't have known."

"I _**should**_ have known!" Kenobi insisted. "Looking back now I can see how _**stupid**_I was, how naïve. No!" He shot a sharp wave at Qui-Gon, stilling the placating words before they even slipped from the master's lips. Kenobi rose swiftly, abruptly, forgoing his cane to pace awkwardly, his leg dragging slightly. "He taught me to question, to _suspect_, to disbelieve everyone and everything, and I did!

"Everyone but him." Kenobi dropped back onto the bench as if he were making a statement of surrender, but Qui-Gon knew the gesture was to mask the agony in his leg - he felt Kenobi's pain over their fledging bond.

"Everyone but him," Kenobi repeated with a sigh.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon returned his hand to the young man's arm, waiting until Kenobi looked at him disconsolately. "You said that being a Jedi was all you ever wanted."

He smiled a little at the hope the ex-Padawan was trying to hide even though it showed clearly across their bond. He leveled a serious gaze at Kenobi, and asked seriously,

"Is that still what you want?"

OoOoOoOo

Please review and thanks to everyone kind enough to do so!


	19. IXX

I think it's pretty well-established that I write angsty h/c with random forays into humor and naked Obi-Wan. That being said, I actually feel guilty that just as this fic is coming into the /c part, "Brink" is ramping up on the h/. Like, 'maybe I shouldn't post the next chap of Brink for awhile' guilty. _**Is**_ there such a thing as too much h/c?

Also - Eruhin - thanks for asking! The naked Obi fic has taken on a life of its own but is nearing completion; Obi-Wan is just giving me a little trouble because I can't get him to put his clothes back _**on**_. Channeling a little Ewan, apparently. ;D

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Nineteen

The darkness sent an unpleasant shiver along his spine.

He was accustomed to light; basked in it and welcomed its caress against his skin and soul, gently brushing his lined face with soothing warmth. His recent experience on Garos - hours and hours trapped frighteningly immobile in darkness with an angry and severely wounded Padawan as his only companion - had only reinforced his distaste for the dark. It had also caused him to install a few extra lights in his apartment on his return home, though he assured himself consolingly that he probably wasn't the _**only**_ Jedi in the Temple to sleep with a nightlight; sure, the other ones were probably in the crèche yet, but still …

Qui-Gon stepped over the threshold into the small entryway, and the door slid closed behind him. It took him barely a second to realize that he was not alone: a tingle at the back of his senses warned him that he had company.

He glided into the common room noiselessly, the thick carpeting muffling his careful footfalls. He kept his robe pulled tight against his large body lest the whisper of loose fabric swishing through the air alert the other occupant of his apartment to his surprisingly as yet undetected presence.

A small, dim lamp on the end table in the corner drove back the shadows from Qui-Gon's well-worn reading chair; the intruder was sprawled here, head tipped back over the arm of the chair lazily, legs tossed slackly over the opposite arm to dangle over the side. Languid fingers loosely clenched the spine of a thick volume belonging to Qui-Gon that had tipped over to rest against a too-thin chest that rose and fell gently with each deep breath.

Qui-Gon smiled at the perfect picture of contentment.

It was too bad the tiny mischievous streak he often kept profoundly hidden would not allow him to let it last.

"AHA!" he announced, loudly triumphant, striding forward to snatch the book from the lax hand.

Obi-Wan Kenobi jumped, startled, and muttered a curse as he swung around to face the smiling Jedi Master, his slim hand reflexively clutching for a hilt that was thankfully not within reach, else Qui-Gon may have ended up missing a limb or two.

"Language, language, Padawan," Qui-Gon reproved mildly with a chuckle, reaching around Kenobi to scale the lamp up brighter so he could squint at the cover of his captured bounty with interest. "Well, well, what have we here? Am I to understand, Padawan Kenobi, that you're engaged in a reading a book, and an 'unnecessary' one at that?"

Kenobi smiled ruefully, blinking at the sudden brightness as he retrieved the book to clutch it protectively against his chest. "I'm still learning too, you know, Master Jinn," he chided gently, swinging his legs around to the front to plant them carefully against the carpeting. He was already reaching for his cane with his free hand as he asked dutifully, "Can I get you something? Tea? Toast?"

"Hmm. Sounds lovely, thank you," Qui-Gon nodded and Kenobi pushed himself upright slowly, waving off Qui-Gon's instinctive reach to aid him, his grey eyes hard as he leaned heavily on his cane.

"I've got it," he said shortly, and Qui-Gon understood that despite the sharpness to the Padawan's tone, he was not being intentionally disrespectful but was obviously in pain; the healers had done what they could for his damaged leg, but short of attempting to replace it there was little more they could do for the mangled mass of bone and tendons that was Kenobi's left shin and ankle. While Qui-Gon cursed the cruelty of Rhagos' method of ensuring his student could not escape, he also felt a grim pride at Kenobi's stubborn insistence that he could function without assistance. How fully the damage would eventually mend the healers were hesitant to speculate, but Qui-Gon chose to believe the Padawan's pain would recede and heal.

Qui-Gon had quickly learned that it was in their mutual best interest to allow Kenobi to act as if he were already completely physically healed; the Padawan had a temper to match Qui-Gon's, and did not take to pity well - as Qui-Gon could well imagine he wouldn't, not having been on the receiving end of any since being assigned as the late master Rhagos' apprentice.

"I know you're learning," Qui-Gon nodded, projecting his voice to follow Kenobi as the young man scraped his way into the kitchen, conciliatory but not patronizing as he acknowledged Kenobi's point; there were many things about being a true Jedi Padawan that Kenobi had never been taught: his former master had apparently been more interested in educating his once-guileless student in ways more aligned with the Dark side of the Force than the standard and Council-approved training Kenobi would have received with a proper master. Qui-Gon had witnessed a fraction of that training on Garos, and what he had seen had left him with a relentless chill in his soul as he slowly began to understand the monumental task he had undertaken in requesting Obi-Wan Kenobi remain with him as his apprentice.

But Qui-Gon Jinn was a man who believed in the rehabilitating power of the Light, and the Living Force was encouraging him on sweetly to help _save this one_.

Qui-Gon settled himself on the low couch near the chair he usually sat in that had been claimed by Kenobi. He offered the young man a kind smile as he returned, carefully balancing a tray - with just a little judicious use of the Force, Qui-Gon noted. He was pleased to see a shade of an answering grin lightly stretch nearly-healed bruises to cross Kenobi's wan face.

"I'm glad you've decided to stay," the older man said warmly, carefully adjusting his long legs under the table in front of the couch, his knees bumping the table's edge as he accepted his tea gratefully. He glanced longingly at his large, comfortable chair, and Kenobi failed to cover a smile as he resettled himself in said chair, burrowing deeper into its thickly plush cushions, sighing in pleased contentment as he wrapped his fingers around his chipped blue mug and blew lightly across the steaming surface of his own kaffe.

_Nice chair,_ Qui-Gon heard over their fledgling bond, and he wasn't certain that Kenobi had intended him to hear his comment; he would have to warn the Padawan about unintentional transmissions and proper mind shielding - something he had known for some time the Padawan needed to work on, since his lapses of control had been causing Qui-Gon's painful headaches.

But they would heal together. They had time now.

His gentle smile grew. "I look forward to helping you complete your training,"

"I'm glad, too," Kenobi agreed softly, but his brow creased in concern as he settled his grey gaze on Qui-Gon hesitantly, almost hiding behind the mug he lifted to his pursed lips. "Though I'm surprised the Council didn't just kick me out when they had the chance," he admitted timidly, sudden tension tightening his fingertips to white where they clenched his cup.

"Kick you out?" Qui-Gon was surprised by the young man's observation but not his unease - Kenobi had been mercilessly questioned by the Council on their return to Coruscant; Qui-Gon could not find it in himself to chastise the young man for his disrespect when he himself shared similar feelings. "Why would they do that?"

The self-loathing painted across Kenobi's features was painful to witness. "I can think of a few reasons," he stated shortly. "More than a few, actually." His right hand twitched in his lap; he noticed and hastily covered it with his left, stilling the movement that was arching his fingers into claws.

Qui-Gon noted Kenobi's reaction and filed it away. _We'll heal_, he told himself firmly, even as he suppressed a shudder to his own reaction at Kenobi's unthinking gesture - the last time he had seen it, it had been aimed at him and hurling deadly bolts of electricity into his nearly-unconscious body. Kenobi had nearly killed him.

_We just need time. Time to heal_. It was becoming a mantra he clung to.

"Oh, please," Qui-Gon _pssh_ed, forcing humor into his suddenly weary tone. "What would you do if you weren't a Jedi?"

The comment was meant to be facetious, to pull a drifting young man back onto firmer, safer ground. Instead, Kenobi's grey eyes shuttered unpleasantly.

"I'm certain I could come up with something," he murmured flatly. "I can do quite a few things they don't teach at the Temple." He twisted Qui-Gon's book thoughtfully in his long fingers, his full mouth drawn into a pensive, questioning frown. "I think the question is rather, what would the Temple do about _**me**_?"

OoOoOoOo

"What exactly do you propose we do?"

The question was asked somberly, and the ancient Jedi Master staring thoughtfully at his thickly-clawed fingers considered for a long moment before answering softly,

"Break him down we tried to do, but too many secrets, too much darkness, he hides. See through him we cannot."

"I thought we agreed he simply does not know better." Mace's protest on Kenobi's behalf was unexpected, as the Senior Council member was typically the most cautious of their group. Yoda swiveled his large eyes toward the man, the corner of one ear curling in a gesture that might have been an indicator of amusement if their discussion weren't so grave.

"Does not he?"

Mace sighed heavily. "I honestly don't know." Another uncharacteristic emotion - frustration - flashed across his dark-skinned features, but his voice was carefully bland as he remarked, "We would perhaps have a better handle on the situation if you hadn't kept the majority of the details so secret in the first place." He leveled a stern look at the old master. "Your fondness for Kenobi is a weakness you must overcome."

"Told the Council more I should have," Yoda admitted, and it was almost odd to Mace to hear the near-apology from the ancient master. "A mistake I regret," Yoda concluded, but there was a challenge in his tone as he added, "But not the last mistake I make I imagine it is." A long sigh escaped Yoda. "A hard life the boy has had, but much promise he still shows."

"The promise of what, though?" Mace demanded impatiently. "_**Is**_ he a danger to himself - and the other Jedi? You stripped him down in this chamber until there was nothing left and we couldn't find any traces of Darkness in him."

"And yet feel it in him, I do," Yoda murmured softly, stubby fingers clenching and unclenching the handle of his gimer stick. "Even if sense it we do not."

Mace realized immediately they had moved onto the dangerous ground of speculation; it was unlike Yoda to be so flighty in his reasoning. "Then I ask again," he said firmly, "what do you propose?"

Yoda drew himself up straight in his chair, apparently reaching an internal decision he had been pondering to himself for some time. "Allow him to wander the galaxy unchecked, we cannot," he said softly. "Deal with Padawan Kenobi decisively, we must."

A cold weight settled in Mace's gut, icy tendrils wrapping up his spine. "Meaning?"

"Murdered another Jedi, he did," Yoda said quietly.

"In self-defense, according to Qui-Gon," Mace countered, staring in startled surprise at the other master as concern began to filter in past cracks in the wall of complacency he so often wrapped himself in. Something seemed so wrong about this …

The third man in the room, seated quietly until this point but listening attentively to every word, leaned forward in his chair eagerly.

"I can assure you that was _**not**_ the case," he interjected decisively, his cloak pulling forward over his shoulders as he shifted to spear the other Jedi with an imperious gaze.

Mace shot him a look of almost-irritation yet kept his calm resolutely. "But Qui-Gon's testimony - "

"Can hardly be considered valid," the other man _tsk_ed ingratiatingly, "as he was under … _extreme duress_ - at Kenobi's hands - during the events he testified about. After all," he smiled, perfect white teeth gleaming, "he also testified to my death, although as you can see I am very much alive."

Mace flicked his darkening glare away from Dooku, turning back to Yoda. "But Rhagos - "

"Never stepped outside the bounds of the behavior expected of a Jedi Master." Dooku apparently felt no compunction about interrupting Windu a second time and the Council member fought to clamp down his irritation. _Calm,_ he encouraged himself plaintively past his rising exasperation. _Be calm._

"Yes," Dooku held up a placating hand, "Master Rhagos experienced some … control … issues before - again, may I say, during his assignment as Kenobi's master - and yet I and the other Jedi stationed on Garos can easily attest to his professionalism and dedication to the Force, with no hint of darkness permeating any of his work or attitude." Sincerity flowed through his warm voice as he murmured regretfully, "In my own assessment, Kenobi is the danger you are sensing. I feel it also."

Yoda's heavy-lidded eyes draped over the flash of regret that coursed through his large eyes.

"Take care of Kenobi, we must. No more darkness must he be permitted to spread."

OoOoOoOo

Oh, I'm sorry… did I give the impression the story was _**over**_? }:D

Although, it occurs to me that some readers (all readers?) may be ready for this story to end. If that is the case, I offer you this wrap-up so you can happily read other fic instead of waiting for yet another unfinished story to be finished:

(ahem)

OoOoOoOo

Obi-Wan Kenobi offered his master his brightest, sunniest smile. "I feel completely healed," he said happily.

"No emotional trauma?" Qui-Gon wanted to know, though he could already sense the warm shift in the Padawan's demeanor.

Obi-Wan made an amused show of checking carefully. "Nope."

Qui-Gon gave his Padawan an answering smile. "I'm so pleased, Padawan. I can't wait to embark on new adventures with you since we've put the past behind us."

Obi-Wan nodded. "It was easier than I thought to move on; I guess I just needed a little time."

Qui-Gon hugged Obi-Wan tightly. "Take all the time you need, so long as you use it while we're on our next mission."

The End.

OoOoOoOo

… hmmm… that actually gave me an idea for another fic. Lol. _**I **_fed the Muse, sweet! Now do your part - feed the Muse! Please review! Lol. And please forgive the nonsensical ridiculousness of the above pseudo-ending. It's been a really long week.


	20. XX

And this is for anyone not willing to accept my pseudo-ending; I genuinely believe this story has much to offer yet and hope I'm not wrong. Feel free to let me know either way!

New Arrangements

By: Syntyche

Chapter Twenty

Mace Windu was still protesting but Dooku had already tuned his plaintive murmurings out; he had too much to consider to spare any more time listening to a losing argument by a Council member who, although a good friend to his former Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn, nevertheless had never ranked high on the list of people Dooku considered worthy of his time.

He knew that he should not have come back to Coruscant, should have disappeared and let the Jedi believe he was dead, but he had realized almost immediately that it was too risky for him _**not**_ to return, not while the whelp had achieved the unexpected and remained with Qui-Gon. Kenobi knew too much to be allowed free reign - and Dooku genuinely believed the two Council members arguing pointlessly before him had no idea how truly dangerous the boy was.

With difficulty, Dooku turned his wandering thoughts back to Windu and Yoda, knowing that he had ought to at least pretend to be calmly interested in their ruminations while his brain scrabbled frantically for a solution of how to continue with the planned Order he and Rhagos had meticulously envisioned. Dooku firmly understood the two things that needed to happen to attain their ideal, that were _absolutely essential_ to the furtherance of their plan:

He needed to get to Qui-Gon without _**any**_ outside interference.

And Kenobi needed to be destroyed.

Still they carried on; Dooku pressed his features into a look of grave interest, waiting only for his opportunity to Suggest and then Act.

"Is _**that**_ what you were looking for?" Mace was persisting, and Dooku clenched his teeth closed over a sneer; surely Qui-Gon could not have continually tolerated this Council member's ridiculous obtuseness? Called him 'friend', even? "Evidence of the Dark Side?"

"Carries it within him, he does," Yoda returned grimly, somber with the knowledge of Kenobi's grave weakness.

"And if you had found it when you questioned him?" Another thought seemed to strike Windu, his jaw clamping mightily as he uttered slowly, "If Qui-Gon hadn't accepted responsibility for Kenobi that day?"

Yoda didn't even budge as pronounced the formerly ex-Padawan's doom: "Never left the Temple, would he have."

"To what end?" Mace demanded insistently, just a touch of horror staining his voice, and Dooku wondered exactly how sanitized this current crop of Jedi had become, with their passivity and bland propensity toward emotionless homogenization. It sickened him, that a Jedi as passionate and _alive_ as Qui-Gon Jinn had been bound to the whims of such disgustingly blank automatons with even less emotion than the unfeeling droids they so eerily strove to imitate.

"Imprisonment?" Windu questioned archly. "Execution?"

"A danger the Dark side is," Yoda retorted sternly. "Less vigilant we should not be despite the apparent extinction of the Sith."

This answer intrigued Dooku: Qui-Gon had voiced his suspicion that the Jedi were hunting Kenobi for such a purpose but at the time Dooku had discounted the idea as mockery of Jedi principles.

He'd had no idea Qui-Gon had been correct.

He had long since tired of their didactic bickering and now he held up a hand to attract their attention. "May I suggest we do this in as painless a way as possible?"

Windu turned from his doleful questioning of Yoda and shot him a dark glare. "Am I to understand you've suddenly developed pity for Kenobi?" he demanded with an arched eyebrow that clearly indicated his skepticism. _You, my friend, will not last long in our new Order_, Dooku thought with satisfaction before answering loftily,

"It is not Kenobi that I pity; I have no mercy for murderers such as he. No," he allowed a brief look of affection to gentle his stern features. "It is my own former student for whom I am concerned. Kenobi was able on some level to establish a bond with Qui-Gon - it was what brought Qui-Gon to Garos initially and consequently endangered his life.

"Qui-Gon's tendency toward mercy has long been a disadvantage to him," he continued to opine. "He was likely deceived by the front of weakness Kenobi proffered; once the boy got past Qui-Gon's defenses, Qui-Gon's loyal nature would not allow him to see any danger Kenobi presented. He _**would**_ focus on the good." A wistful tone lightened his voice. "He _looks_ for the good in everyone, no matter how incorrigible they appear."

Mace, uncomfortable with the display of emotion, no matter how minimal, steered the discussion back to his original question. "And so…"

Yoda had reached a decision - one that Dooku could not have been more pleased with; indeed, it seemed as though Yoda had plucked the idea directly from his thoughts.

"Observe them, we must. Send them on a sabbatical to recover, we will; under close watch will we keep both of them. Discreetly, I expect you can do this, Master Dooku?"

It took all his will to contain his glee, but Dooku managed a tight nod and a solemn, "If it is the course you deem wisest, Master, of course I shall do it." _Don't sound too eager._ Calmly, he queried, "And if Kenobi shows signs of Darkness?"

Yoda sighed heavily. "Risk becoming a Sith we cannot allow him to." he paused. "Slay him, you must."

OoOoOoOo

"A what?"

The look Kenobi was giving him was a curious blend of suspicion and amusement, just slightly patronizing but more intrigued than anything and Qui-Gon found himself smiling at his Padawan's incredulity.

"A sabbatical. A vacation. A break."

Kenobi shook his head and returned to his book. "I don't know what you're talking about," he scoffed.

Qui-Gon's grin widened; he couldn't help his enthusiasm - they were safe, his headaches had calmed, and Kenobi was safely in his care. And if the Padawan was currently unmoved by Qui-Gon's enthusiasm, it wouldn't last, Qui-Gon was certain of it. There was too much joy, too much life persistently prevalent within the Living Force, and a sabbatical could only help Kenobi learn to achieve harmony with both sides of the Force rather than simply the arduous emphasis on the Unifying side that the Padawan so heavily favored.

The thought of helping the mentally scarred and physically ravaged Padawan find balance in his troubled life was sweetly intoxicating to Qui-Gon and he could hardly believe the good grace of the Force that was allowing them a chance to rest and recover outside the Temple. He had only to choose where they would go, and already one candidate was jumping out in his mind as perfect:

Ceylos; the outskirts of the city Carant, to be more precise.

He had been there one time, in a diplomatic capacity, and the smell of the salty sea air and view of the impossibly blue ocean had remained with him ever since. The Living Force had sung in unhindered beauty there, and he had eternally yearned to go back. Now was their chance.

"It'll be great," he wheedled with a grin, the sweet yet gravelly lilt to his voice coming through in his amusement. "Come on, let's give it a try," he encouraged boisterously. "Pack your things, Obi-Wan, there's no reason to delay."

Kenobi sighed long-sufferingly - he had started doing that quite a bit since being assigned to Qui-Gon's care, but the Jedi Master did not mind at all; he knew there was no malice behind his new Padawan's gesture - and rose awkwardly to his feet, stumping off to his room with Qui-Gon following.

"You'll enjoy it immensely, I'm sure," Qui-Gon placated, _willing_ Kenobi to catch onto his eagerness. "But pack light; there's no need to bring much."

Kenobi tossed him a twist of his full mouth and an eye roll, opened his dresser drawer, and pulled out the one extra tunic and pair of breeches he owned, which he settled into his open duffel with exaggerated care. The Padawan was clearly struggling to cover a grin as he turned absurdly stoic eyes to Qui-Gon.

"Happy?" he asked succinctly.

"Quite." Qui-Gon tousled Kenobi's long ginger hair affectionately before his brow crinkled in concern as he surveyed the woefully under-packed duffel. "We ought to get you some more clothes, though."

OoOoOoOo

Qui-Gon Jinn, a Jedi Master well-known to display maverick tendencies, inhaled deeply of the aromatically woodsy air. Ceylos reminded him very much of his own home planet, and the Jedi Master's wanderlust spirit felt the stirrings of contentment as he stood on a forested cliff overlooking a winding stream a few hundred meters below. Soft yellow sunlight filtered down through spaces in between gently waving tree branches and were greedily soaked up by the dark fabric of his robe, bringing him warmth against the pleasantly crisp air. Qui-Gon pushed his hood back and basked in the touch of sunlight caressing his strong, leonine features as the quiet breeze teased long strands of mahogany hair away from his face.

A rustle of chestnut in his peripheral vision caught his attention as Obi-Wan Kenobi glided over noiselessly to stand just behind and to the right of his new teacher. He didn't speak, but Qui-Gon felt the ripples of unrest emanating from the young Jedi. He didn't blame Kenobi; this was, after all, his first venture outside the Temple since he'd been rescued on Garos IV.

It may have also been Kenobi's firm grounding in the Unifying Force that was causing his uneasiness; Qui-Gon had learned during their shared convalescence that Kenobi was prone to premonitions and nightmares strengthened by the Unifying Force, but without proper attention to the counterbalance of the Living Force and the here and now, Kenobi's foreshadowing would do him little good.

"Focus on the present, young Padawan," Qui-Gon instructed gently.

Kenobi stiffened at the now-familiar refrain, perhaps falsely feeling that Qui-Gon was disappointed in his lack of progress in this area. Qui-Gon, however, was a far less harsh judge than Kenobi's former teacher. "Yes, Master," he said, a soft tremble undercutting the strength he tried to push into his voice.

"Pretend, just for a moment, that you're enjoying yourself," Qui-Gon murmured, inhaling deeply and watching discreetly to see if Kenobi would follow his lead. He didn't. "Try and act like you know how to relax."

"Yes, Master," Kenobi responded, politely prompt but looking just a touch confused, as if he were properly _hearing_ the words Qui-Gon was saying but couldn't comprehend how to correctly make use of them.

Qui-Gon sighed. "Obi-Wan, come stand beside me and look at this incredible view."

"Yes, Master." Precisely two steps forward and Kenobi was positioned at Qui-Gon's side, gazing out at the valley below with an expression that clearly said _I'm humoring you, Master. Can we go now?_

"Isn't it fantastic, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked heartily, drawing another deeply appreciative breath. "The Living Force _sings_ here, Obi-Wan, with a beautiful voice."

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan was frowning more heavily now; not a normal frown, a simple downward cast of the mouth that suggested some displeasure was felt by the wearer - no, this was what Qui-Gon was coming to realize was an _**Obi-Wan**_ frown: not only were his lips compressed in a tight line and turned downward, his grey eyes were narrowed and his forehead had creased into a scowl. His arms were crossed over his chest rather than tucked into his voluminous sleeves as was his habit and his entire posture proclaimed very clearly _I have a bad feeling about this; just try and convince me otherwise. _

_Relax_, Qui-Gon willed.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said mildly, abandoning his attempts to truly capture his new Padawan's attention.

"Yes, Master?"

"Give your teeth some air."

One light eyebrow quirked in puzzlement. "Master?"

"Smile, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon suggested cheerfully, going so far to offer an example of his own.

Kenobi offered a slightly sick-looking smile in retrn but Qui-Gon could see that his focus was a million parsecs away and he knew that Kenobi was still mulling over his premonition of an indefinable danger. He actually jumped when Qui-Gon clapped a large hand on his thin shoulder.

"Obi-Wan, if you've nothing definite to go on and your meditations reveal nothing, you must push your troubled thoughts aside and focus on the present. Your focus determines your reality, Padawan, and mulling over shadows will not help you move on."

Kenobi sighed. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master."

"You are indeed, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon teased with a light smile, "But when you learn to truly feel the Living Force, you'll do much better."

A flicker of disbelief crossed Kenobi's pleasant features, but he swallowed back hard whatever he had intended to say and instead nodded sharply. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon had a feeling he would be very tired of hearing "Yes, Master" before their sabbatical was over. "It was a joke, Obi-Wan," he offered soothingly. "But could you possibly stop with the 'yes, Master' for a bit? You're giving me a headache," he complained with a grin.

Kenobi moved away gracefully, still staggering just a little with his damaged leg, but he didn't seem to take offense at Qui-Gon's request.

"Of course, Your Greatness," he replied, without skipping a beat.

OoOoOoOo

Thanks for all the love you give this story; you've helped me take a germ of an idea and turn it into an angsty mini-saga. So thank you, thank you, thank you. :D


	21. XXI

Thanks for the comments on _Brink_! I really appreciate the time taken to review, follow, or favorite.

**New Arrangements**

By: Syntyche

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Qui-Gon Jinn was quite pleased that their second go at apprenticeship was so far shaping up much better than their first. It was due, perhaps, to the fact that he and Kenobi both were a little wiser now, a little more jaded, a little more aware of what the other was capable of.

Qui-Gon was developing a deep appreciation for the levels of raw power Kenobi possessed, and to this he wisely added a healthy dose of caution: he had, after all, seen Kenobi tear another living being apart with just a twitch of his finger, and had himself been almost killed by the unfortunate Padawan when Obi-Wan's former master had hijacked Kenobi's capacity to control the Force. It had been a gruesome and horrifying experience that Qui-Gon couldn't quite push out of his mind - nor did he want to. He had underestimated an apprentice before, and when the Padawan had turned it had shredded him, torn him inside out; and he had reacted by cutting off nearly all contact with the Jedi and even refusing to train any further students by himself, a task that had he previously looked forward to immensely.

But now he would teach again, and Qui-Gon couldn't deny that this time around, this attempt at helping to ground Kenobi firmly in the Light was both exciting and gratifying to him. The Master knew that the Padawan was strongly gifted with the Living Force, and Qui-Gon's own passion to teach had been reawakened; anything he could do to share that wondrous and beautiful gift with Kenobi filled him with renewed purpose and an inner joy that stricter Council members loudly opined he should not possess.

He would be cautious and he would be careful; he hadn't forgotten what he'd seen the young man do. He hadn't forgotten the Council's misgivings. And he hadn't forgotten the whispers of Darkness he'd sensed inside of Kenobi. Qui-Gon had decided that he would be tirelessly alert while also allowing his spirit to open up to Kenobi, a little and gradually, as he was now directly responsible for the Padawan, and Kenobi had much to make up in both discipline and training.

For his part, Obi-Wan Kenobi was slowly growing to gratefully welcome Qui-Gon's easygoing nature - the older Jedi's ready smile and boundless enthusiasm were new to the Padawan, as well as Qui-Gon's firm reliance on the Living Force, and his almost unbelievable commitment to patience: despite Kenobi's wary reticence of his own power and bubbling frustrations at not always being able to master his control, Qui-Gon never balked at trying _just once more, Padawan! I know you can do it!_ which made Kenobi's brow furrow and demand of himself that he try even harder. Qui-Gon never scolded, never raised a clenched fist to him nor tore him down with words designed to denigrate and cruelly sharpened to wound. At times, Kenobi found he had to draw on deep inner strength slowly built over a half of a lifetime of abuse simply to keep humiliated tears from falling as his new master showed him yet another unaccustomed kindness.

Obi-Wan could _**not**_ show Qui-Gon weakness - but not only that. The Padawan knew that he needed to be very, very careful not to allow too much of any kind of emotion to surface; permitting anything buried deep to erupt on the surface meant that his already cracked shields were further crumbling, splintering into unsalvageable pieces, and he would be lost within himself, hopelessly submerged beneath the fierce waves of his own guilt and shame and the horrors of what he'd done in his life, who he _**really **_was underneath.

He could manage it during the days, burying the thoughts deep within, but the nights were his undoing. He was cracking.

He was losing.

He wasn't strong enough to keep the Dark away…

And Qui-Gon would finally see the monster that was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

It was with an unburdened ease that Qui-Gon had not expected, but gratefully welcomed, that he and Kenobi quickly fell into a routine. By day, they walked peaceful and sunlit paths beneath graceful trees while Qui-Gon expounded on the nature of the Force, and they watched the clear, rippling surface of the lake behind their cabin while Qui-Gon patiently taught proper techniques for effective meditation. He ignored Kenobi's restless fidgeting, and Kenobi ignored his sometimes overly preachy manner. They were both growing, both learning to be more comfortable around each other in small ways, and though Qui-Gon knew Kenobi kept much buried deep below his exterior shields, he also felt they continued to make progress, and this pleased him.

These were there days; calm, peaceful, and focused, filled with training and silly quips and wry headshakes at the other's expense.

Their nights, however, were hell.

Nighttime often found Qui-Gon rushing into Kenobi's room, strong arms slipping around the Padawan's shaking body, words of murmured comfort slipping from his lips into the darkness to try and break through the terror that had seized the younger man and turned him into a trembling and howling mess. Qui-Gon's thick fingers rhythmically stroked unkempt ginger hair soothingly and brushed frustrated and bitter tears from pale cheeks. He was exhausted, but he knew the Padawan was more so: Kenobi had not slept soundly through a night since he'd been retrieved from Rhagos on Garos. It was not a surprise, considering what had happened there, but each evening as the Padawan offered him a resigned good night and disappeared into his room, Qui-Gon fervently hoped that the day's teachings and mediation would be enough to keep away the nightmares that savaged Kenobi's sleeping mind, that this _**wouldn't**_ the night Qui-Gon's own sleep would be sharply disrupted by his apprentice's distress.

So far, he was still waiting.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

The sun rose slowly, steadily, soaking into the cold ground and burning away morning dewdrops clinging to vibrantly ochre blades of grass. Though he had learned that Obi-Wan preferred sunsets and had enjoyed watching several of them with his apprentice, Qui-Gon still found that for himself, quietly observing the rising of the morning sun held more joy for him. There was a simple yet profound peace in the still of morning as slowly awakening counterparts of fading nightlife yawned and stretched and lifted their voices to welcome a new day.

It was in the calm of morning that Qui-Gon could order his thoughts, prepare for their day, and plan Obi-Wan's next lessons. It was simple, it was orderly, and it was all he could have hoped for from that first day when Yoda had informed him he would be taking on another Padawan, and no, he could not turn this assignment down.

Qui-Gon barely noticed the soreness in his knees as they loudly protested the length of time he had been kneeling; it hadn't really been a problem before, but his sleepless nights were beginning to wear him down, to dull the sharp edge of the reflexes he was so proud of. The Jedi Master ignored his complaining joints and the slight persistent burn across his shoulderblades from his hunched position, and focused instead on the unfolding birds' song and the gentle rustle of leaves twitching in the breeze. He was one with the Force, feeling it wash over him like the tingle of awakening senses that had been asleep but were now stirring. His eyes were closed, his breathing calm. He barely heard the gentle swish of the cabin door closing somewhere to his left as Obi-Wan headed out for his morning swim. Qui-Gon knew that Kenobi was trying hard to regain his strength while his body slowly healed, and the Padawan seemed to be most comfortable within the weightlessness of the cold water.

Qui-Gon could stay here for the rest of his life, and be content. He could stay knowing that he had lived and carried himself every day as a Jedi to the best of his beliefs and abilities. The Council would never allow it - the Order didn't really provide a retirement plan: Yoda was proof of that - but Force, how sweetly he wished it in this moment.

His focused meditation trailed away into wistful thoughts and he surprised himself by allowing his eyes to flicker open, finishing his morning devotional early. Qui-Gon rose, smiling ruefully at the muted popping and cracking noises accompanying the movements of stiff limbs realigning themselves, but instead of returning to the cabin as was his habit, he meandered instead down to the water's edge to check on his unaware Padawan.

Soft, damp grass cushioned his firm bootfalls as he strode to the small lake less than a kilometer from their cabin. He could see Kenobi knifing through the rippling water, his strong arms pulling his thin, lithe body through the motions of swiftly covering the distance from bank to bank.

"Good morning!" Qui-Gon called cheerfully, loud enough that he hoped Kenobi could hear him. Sure enough, Obi-Wan's head immediately lifted and his bright gaze settled on Qui-Gon as he slowed to tread water, wiping at his grey eyes with a dripping hand until he could squint clearly at his master.

"Good morning, Master," the Padawan returned promptly, then ducked back underwater to make directly for the shore where his towel, tunic and boots lay in a neat pile. Before Qui-Gon could reach the water's edge, Kenobi had hauled himself from the water and was shoving his arms through his tunic sleeves, pulling the garment onto his sodden body.

Qui-Gon lifted a pointed eyebrow. "You probably ought to have dried off first."

Kenobi had the grace to look abashed, coloring lightly as he often did when Qui-Gon teased him. The Jedi Master suspected it was part of Kenobi's built-in defenses, so he ribbed his new Padawan whenever the opportunity provided, slowly and persistently working him out of his shell. Qui-Gon shrugged, brushing Kenobi's embarrassment aside. "Hungry?"

A half-smile was his answer, along with a simple, "Of course, my esteemed Master."

Qui-Gon slung a companionable arm over Kenobi's shoulders that was meant to appear casual, but Qui-Gon had not seen Obi-Wan's cane with his belongings and correctly surmised the younger Jedi had left the despised walking aid back at the cabin. Qui-Gon applauded Kenobi's tireless efforts to work through the pain of his ravaged leg, but he could also see the lines of exhaustion already crumpling Obi-Wan's forehead into tight creases.

Qui-Gon steered them back toward their cabin, happily breathing in crisp morning air while his thoughts buzzed ahead to breakfast and the day's lessons. Once they reached the small abode, Kenobi excused himself to shower while Qui-Gon cheerfully engaged himself with puttering around the tiny kitchen. He still wasn't much of a cook, but tea and a lumpy sort of gruel would suffice for the morning.

As he was spooning hot gruel into shallow bowls, Kenobi clomped into the room, clean from his shower, shaggy hair still damp. He was leaning almost nonchalantly against his cane, trying with everything he had to look like he didn't need to.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon greeted cheerfully, collecting spoons and a small dish of berries. Kenobi flashed him a look of sublime innocence.

"My liege?"

A grin threatened to split the firmly pressed line of Qui-Gon's mouth into an amused expression he was trying desperately to hide, so he ducked his face behind the long curtain of his unbound hair as he deposited their meager breakfast onto the table. "Breakfast is ready," he announced.

Kenobi nodded, his lips twisting at the bland color of the gruel. "Thank you, your Highness," he returned politely.

Qui-Gon shot him a look. Kenobi, when he allowed it to show, possessed a dryly wicked sense of humor. "You can stop anytime, thank you."

A bow before Kenobi settled himself lightly on his chair. "As my Supreme Commander wills, so it is my wish."

Qui-Gon reluctantly spooned a mouthful of gruel past his lips. "You never give up, do you?" he questioned mildly.

A flash of determination crossed Kenobi's suddenly serious features. "Never," he said softly, reminding Qui-Gon that the Initiate raised carefully by the Temple was no longer; that always below the surface lived a young Padawan who had struggled to survive, who had done terrible things and had them done to him in return.

A fleeting chance for gentleness passed between them, and Qui-Gon knew that he had ignored opportunities like this many times before, with apprentices of his own and students he had taught. Times where he had obeyed the Council and kept himself reserved, distant, aloof, emotionless.

Not this time, however.

"May I?" he asked gently, gesturing toward the long damp strands curling around Kenobi's shoulder. A hesitant nod from Kenobi and Qui-Gon lifted himself from his chair to kneel beside the very still Padawan, and the Jedi Master carefully separated out the longest strands by Kenobi's right ear, deftly separating into three groups that he then worked into a thin plait. His hands shook as he worked and Qui-Gon marveled at their unusual unsteadiness in performing such a simple task, one he had undertaken many, many times in the past. The red and yellow beads seemed so tiny in his large palm, and he wondered what training milestones Kenobi had reached to achieve them.

"I should have done this for you many times before," he murmured softly, hoping his calm tone would ease the fine tremors trickling through Kenobi's wasted frame. "I thank you for the opportunity to do it now." Qui-Gon smiled. "I would be honored to attend to your Padawan braid anytime you wish."

Kenobi glanced at him, emotion flickering through his shielded gaze. No jokes, no deferral, just a quiet smile that genuinely reached his eyes in a way all of the facetious "I'm fine" smiles he usually affected never did.

"Thank you," Master Qui-Gon," he said humbly, and Qui-Gon quirked a tiny grin.

"You're welcome, Most Amazing of All Padawans."

Kenobi laughed honestly, and it was music to Qui-Gon's ears.

Qui-Gon plunked himself gracefully back into his chair, adding a few more sweet berries to his otherwise tasteless breakfast. "What shall we do today, Padawan?" he asked cheerfully, his grin stretching at Kenobi's longsuffering roll of the eyes.

"Oh, I don't know," Kenobi responded glibly. "Meditate, I suppose, and then … read, perhaps? Followed by tea and more meditation?" Kenobi's brow furrowed questioningly as he asked carefully, "Qui-Gon, is this what a sabbatical really is all about? It's so … " he hunted quickly for a polite term, gave up, and muttered, "boring," with a small wince of apology.

"It's about taking time for yourself," Qui-Gon chastised gently, laying a kind arm on Kenobi's shoulder. "It's about learning to be comfortable with who you've become, and discovering where you'd like to go."

Kenobi snorted darkly, all trace of emotion wiped from his features and demeanor.

"I will never be comfortable with who I am, Master Jinn," and his honest admission must have startled him because he added quickly, with one of those synthetic smiles Qui-Gon so loathed, "Your Imminence."

Qui-Gon had been waiting to discuss with Kenobi their frightening experience on Garos but had patiently been lookingfor the right opportunity. Kenobi's unexpected confession seemed like an open invitation from the Force, so Qui-Gon readily pounced.

"Why not, Padawan?"

Kenobi didn't even hesitate, the deception springing smoothly to his thinned lips. "Well, for one thing, I'm far too short… "

But Qui-Gon wouldn't give him the out he quietly scrabbled for. "That's not what you meant," he said sternly.

A sigh, and then smally, "I know."

"We need to talk," Qui-Gon added gently.

Under the table, Kenobi's knee started bouncing nervously. Even softer, "I know."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon pressed gently on Kenobi's knee to still the restless movement, but Kenobi resisted, clearly uncomfortable and unnerved, obviously stalling.

"Shall I make tea first?"

Qui-Gon easily saw the question for what it was: a chance for Kenobi to regain his equilibrium, to pull himself together. He allowed the kindness.

"That would be fine, Padawan, thank you."

Kenobi gratefully limped off to the kitchen, and Qui-Gon patiently listened to the sounds of the Padawan rustling around until he appeared a few minutes later, mask firmly in place as he struggled to look completely in control. His boot caught on a fold in the carpet and he staggered, almost recovered; but his damaged leg betrayed him and the tray clutched carefully in his hands sailed into Qui-Gon, who had half-risen when he saw the Padawan's trouble.

The tea was hot, of course, but it barely soaked through his outer clothes, and a reflexive "Ouch!" slipped from Qui-Gon at the contact. He saw Kenobi stiffen unconsciously as he fought to regain his feet, bracing himself for an angry onslaught: his grey eyes darkened and widened, and his breathing sped up to hitch rapidly in his chest.

"I'm sorry!" he whispered, hands lifted placatingly. "I'm sorry!"

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured gently, snatching a towel to soak up the worst of the liquid staining his front. "Please calm down."

Kenobi nodded miserably, struggling to breathe slowly but failing spectacularly. "I can't," he finally murmured brokenly, clutching his arms around himself tightly, swaying on his wounded leg, and Qui-Gon knew that as much and as hard as they had worked, Kenobi was still caught within the grip of the past and the master who had punished him severely for any infraction. "I can't, I'm sorry, I can't … "

"Come here," Qui-Gon said gently, spreading his arms, the long sleeves of his tunic sweeping outward. Kenobi's damp eyes looked at him questioningly but he clearly felt compelled to obey and he stepped hesitantly close to Qui-Gon; close enough that Qui-Gon could see the perspiration that beaded small trails down Kenobi's pinched face.

"Breathe," Qui-Gon chided gently, bringing his hand up to the back of Kenobi's neck and gently pressing the Padawan's trembling form against his large chest. "Just relax," he repeated softly, "breathe and be calm." He wrapped gentle arms around Kenobi's slight, shaking body.

So wrapped up was he in comforting his Padawan and so lost was Obi-Wan in his misery of memories that neither of them heard the outside door being swiftly pulled open, nor fully registered the new presence that joined them until a familiar voice - reviled and feared by one, disbelieving and hopeful by the other - broke into their shared moment.

"I confess that I am surprised to see my apprentice, whom I raised and trained so diligently and - I thought - _**well**_ and thoroughly, could fall prey to such a blatant setup. Really, this pithy distraction was something this wretched creature should never have gotten past you."

Qui-Gon lifted his head quickly, the words not registering to his elated mind but the voice so, so familiar, and his stunned disbelief dissolved into unexpected joy; he didn't notice Kenobi stiffening fearfully within the circle of his arms, nor the dark, hateful look that crossed the Padawan's face - so wrapped up was the older Jedi in the bright, new, unmistakably familiar presence in the Force.

"Master," he smiled happily.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

You know, it's funny. Even at this point I am toying with ending this two ways; dark and memorable, or somewhat lighter and happier. Shrug. We'll see what the Muse thinks, I guess, and please feel free to review because the Muse is easily and randomly inspired by reader comments that often spin off entire new stories (such as naked and chocolate-covered Obi-Wan, _sigh, _coming soon). Thanks for reading!


	22. XXII

Hm. So, during the Unexpected Hiatus, I received some negative comments about this story, which I can accept if they're constructive but have a little harder time with when its things like "this story blows," (to which I guess my question is "why did you waste your time reading all twenty-one chapters, then?") and that it's a frustrating read because everyone is out of character … so I got a little discouraged, I admit. But I still kept getting follows for the fic, and then I remembered that some amazing authors have favorited it, and I wondered why I let myself get sidetracked by a few complaints when I've gotten some thoughtful and insightful comments as well. All that to say, I'm sorry for the long delay, and my deepest thanks and appreciation to readers who have continued to follow this story, who have even _**found**_ this story amidst all the other great fic in this category. I'll polish it up soon and fix some crazy grammatical and spelling errors I've just noticed, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter and can take a minute to let me know what you think (even if you think it blows, ;)

**New Arrangements**

By: Syntyche

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Master!" Qui-Gon smiled happily, his face breaking into a surprised grin tinged with wild disbelief: it was the sun dawning on a horizon too long dark from grief. "I thought you were - "

"Dead?" Dooku asked haughtily, shouldering his way into the room, his long robe billowing out behind him as he swept in with his usual flair for the dramatic, allowing the door to slam loudly behind him with a clatter that made Obi-Wan jump. "Of course not."

Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, both at Dooku's words and the automatic way Obi-Wan backed away from the Jedi Master, wrapping his arms around his middle as he shuttered himself both in mind and stance. Qui-Gon couldn't miss the way the tension in the room jumped by several degrees, and he wondered just what effect his former master was having on his Padawan, a man Obi-Wan claimed to have never met before.

Dread started to pool in Qui-Gon's stomach, a suspicion he'd been burying since Garos flitting to the surface … but to dwell on it, to believe it, meant he'd been lied to by both of the other individuals in this room. "But I saw your - " he started slowly, and Dooku cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

"Body?" he scoffed disdainfully, shaking his head as he drew near to tower over Obi-Wan even as he laid a cautious hand on Qui-Gon's arm, clearly concerned for his old Padawan's state of mind. "You saw a body dressed in robes similar to mine. Had you been less … _distracted_ - " and there was no missing the sneer in Dooku's voice that brought a small ribbon of shame to tighten Qui-Gon's mouth - "you would have easily realized the body was merely a decoy to dissuade the attention of Kenobi's unbalanced and treacherous master."

It could have been a slip but of course it wasn't, Dooku calmly drawing the connection between Rhagos and Kenobi to remind Qui-Gon of how dangerous the Padawan was.

Qui-Gon did not need to be reminded, however. He still had the bruises and burns, and the memory of electrifying blue lightning scorching into his skin that haunted both his and Obi-Wan's nights.

From where he'd purposefully placed himself between the Master and Padawan, Dooku reached out long fingers to grasp Kenobi's chin and turn the Padawan's face toward the darkly inquisitive glare of the older master.

"So," Dooku said slowly, gravity staining his voice to the appropriate level of cautious inquisitiveness. "_**This**_ is the infamous Obi-Wan Kenobi." And he said it as if he himself hadn't spent days torturing the man before him, depriving him of food and sleep, pushing him past limits that would have crumbled most other men but still, ultimately, failing to break him. Kenobi clearly hadn't forgotten, either; he straightened tall to stare directly into Dooku's eyes, his grey gaze dark and hateful. Dooku's eyes flashed a warning to the Padawan that Qui-Gon couldn't see as he uttered, "_**This**_ is pathetic mewling creature that has brought one of our greatest and most accomplished masters _to his knees_?"

The censure in his voice was heavy and before the growing suspicion had lodged in his gut Qui-Gon might have immediately taken a mental step back to defer to his better; but something about the way Kenobi had inadvertently tensed at Dooku's appearance, added to the fragments of conversations with his former master on Garos that started to filter back into Qui-Gon's mind as he studied his old teacher slowed Qui-Gon's inclination to deference.

Qui-Gon gently reached out to grasp Obi-Wan's shoulders and pulled him carefully back a step, away from Dooku's overbearing reach. "Master," Qui-Gon murmured, soft but stern, "Please."

"You wish me to show pity to a murderer?" Dooku snarled, and any pretense he had come for anything other than a confrontation dissolved before Qui-Gon's uncertain eyes.

"Obi-Wan is not a murderer," Qui-Gon deferred quietly, carefully pulling back the Padawan back another step while he purposefully pushed aside the memory of the murdered Sundari ringing the Padawan while Rhagos looked on gleefully. For his part, Obi-Wan said nothing to condemn nor defend himself, he simply glared at Dooku with bitter venom crackling the air between them.

"Really?" Dooku questioned coldly, a hint of a vile smile turning the corners of his mouth. "Why don't you show him, _Padawan Kenobi_? Show Qui-Gon the markers of your guilt."

Kenobi blanched, his defenses shuddering as he unconsciously drew his robe more tightly against his slender frame. "I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered, barely heard as hatred faded swiftly to a desperate light igniting in his broken, pleading gaze.

"Now, we both know that's not true," Dooku said condescendingly. "It was well-known the lengths Master Rhagos' Padawan would go to achieve his aims."

"Master, you're distressing the boy," Qui-Gon interjected. "We need to step back and - "

"It is his own transgressions that cause him to quake like a terrified child," Dooku's voice sharpened as he interrupted, pushing forward to grip Obi-Wan's shoulders with thick fingers. "_Show him_," he ordered, and the Suggestion was so strong that even Qui-Gon ceased his attempts to intervene.

Kenobi's hands shook so hard they could barely push his robe to the floor and fasten onto the ties of his tunic, which he unlaced slowly and unsteadily. At a firm look from Dooku the Padawan shoved garment off, revealing to Qui-Gon just how pitifully thin he was, a mess of scarring and wasted muscles.

"Turn around," Dooku instructed and Kenobi gave him a look that asked for mercy although they both knew none would be given to the young man who had dared to topple the dreams of the new Order.

"Master, please," Obi-Wan whispered, a final time.

"Turn. Around," Dooku demanded softly, and Kenobi did so.

Qui-Gon drew a sharp breath as he surveyed the pale skin now displayed to him. "What are they?" he asked gruffly, the words startled and heavy with grief.

"Reminders," Kenobi said bitterly, his anguished face turned to the ceiling, looking at neither man. "Of what I've done."

Reminders, indeed. Row after row of three centimeter scars marred Kenobi's back, gouging a painful trail across his shoulder blades and lower that drifted almost to the small of his back. Some of the scars were white with age, while others were visibly more recent.

"And each one has a name, doesn't it, Kenobi?" Dooku pressed, tracing a hand over the gnarled flesh

"_Yes_," Obi-Wan choked desperately, trembling and humiliated by their scrutiny.

"What kind of monster … " Qui-Gon could barely force the stunned words out.

"You see him before you, Qui-Gon," Dooku ground out triumphantly, but Qui-Gon barely spared him a glance as he brushed past him to lay a strong hand on Kenobi's arm as he slid out of his own rode and draped it over the Padawan's shoulders as silent tears slid down Obi-Wan's face.

"… would do this to you?" Qui-Gon finished softly, and Kenobi's reddened, disbelieving eyes slowly dropped to face Qui-Gon's, incredulity staining their pain-filled depths.

"Master Qui-Gon?" he asked quietly, unable to believe that mercy so long denied had finally been granted. Dooku, too, could not grasp that fact, and his hand dropped to the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

"Qui-Gon," he hissed fiercely, "I warn you that this is unacceptable! This monster cannot be permitted to live! I _**will**_ have my new Order!"

His blade was in his hand and through Kenobi before either of them could blink.

OoOoOoOoOo

If you have a minute, reviews are nice, and I promise it won't be as long before the next update. :)


	23. XXIII

**Author's Note:**

I am speechless.

I literally cannot express the overwhelming amazement I feel at this story's readers response to my previous note. Your support and kind words are just fantastic … you made my day, my week… more than that, and I deeply regret my internet time at present is so slim that I am unable to personally reply to each of you with my grateful thanks. I can offer an update in the meantime, though, with the hopeful expectation that I will, eventually, be able to thank you all more in-depth in the future. :)

All my best,

Syn

OoOoOoOoOo

**New Arrangements **

By: Syntyche

Chapter Twenty-Three

There was a moment when Dooku realized that he had, finally, gone too far in pursuit of his Order.

That moment, unfortunately, occurred when it was too late.

Qui-Gon's horror-filled eyes lifted to meet his as Dooku's brilliant blade pulled free of Kenobi's flesh with a wet sucking sound, and the nauseating and overpowering stench of scorched flesh filled the air around them. Dooku had _**known**_, curse it all, he'd _**known**_ that Kenobi would be the one to finally accomplish it, to push his control past the breaking point because that's what the boy, the little Jedi with more power than he should have had and the mouth that was far too disrespectful and vexing for his own good, had done since their first encounter and continued to do. Dooku had thought he'd broken the whelp, had felt so _**proud**_ at the cowering, mewling Jedi before him on Garos that he'd counted his success before it was fully formed.

He should have known the little bastard wouldn't just let it go, because despite everything that had happened to him, Kenobi, with some twisted sense of hope and determination, had wanted to live, had somehow kept believing he could still be a Jedi. It had turned Dooku's stomach, the revolting idea of one as filthy and wretched as Kenobi being admitted to the Order, and he'd done all in his power to bring the boy down to the level of tawdry rubbish that he was.

But now he'd gone too far, because he had lost control in front of Qui-Gon and even as their gazes connected Dooku saw, to his shame and fury, the respect and adoration his student had held for him bleed from the other Master's eyes as surely as the sizzling blood would have dripped from Kenobi's wound had not the fiercely hot blade singed and cauterized as it was pulled from flesh and bone.

Dooku wouldn't look into Kenobi's eyes, he can't; he could barely listen to the gasping shallow breaths that Kenobi struggled to draw. Not from remorse, but from livid anger that coursed through him, chewing and snarling and spitting rage that this damned _**whelp**_ has taken everything from him, even his own apprentice now because Qui-Gon's expression is changing to one of determination and cold resolve.

Dooku pulled his blade out swiftly and fully, jerking Kenobi forward and off his feet with a choked gasp as the Padawan staggered and crashed to his knees on the hard floor, swaying as he lifted a shaking hand to press ineffectually against the pulsating pain ripping through his shoulder. Overpowering rage continued to fill him as Dooku brought his blade around for the killing blow - he needed to be certain that the contamination was gone forever, needed to rid the Force of this filth, and clear his head so he could explain to Qui-Gon what had happened, the danger he had saved him from. Rhagos was gone; all that remained was his student and he too needed to be eliminated so the threat could pass.

The arc of his blade would sever Kenobi's head from his scarred shoulders, and they would be free. The Order could flourish and strengthen. There was still time to make this right. He drew back for the killing blow.

A familiar green light saber intersected with his, just before his blade met Kenobi's flesh again; the impact made Dooku's arms shake with the force behind Qui-Gon's parry.

"Padawan, don't do this!" Dooku implored desperately. This could not be! His own student overruling him? Qui-Gon should know better! "You do not understand!"

Qui-Gon's face was hard and cold, deep lines etched into a visage that before had held only love and respect for him. It was a moment where Dooku suddenly and desperately wanted to beg his old friends and teachers for forgiveness that he had so foolishly believed emotions should not be so firmly controlled, that love and joy and sadness _**could**_ exist within the life of a Jedi without being repressed into almost nothingness. He wanted to go back to their sterile teachings and feel nothing because the heartbreakingly disappointed and disgusted expression his beloved student wore - for _**him**_ - was devouring him from the inside out. The pride he had felt in himself for so long, carried so haughtily, cracked and splintered within his soul and in that moment Dooku actually wondered if his diverted blade had plunged into his own chest instead.

But their glowing blades still met over Kenobi's bowed head.

"Dooku," Qui-Gon said softly, but his voice was harsh and flat and stripped of all honorifics and deference. "Back away," was the first command the student had ever given the master and Dooku slowly switched off his blade with numb fingers and relinquished it to Qui-Gon's expectant hand. He took a wary step back as instructed, a hundred thoughts tumbling over each other in his mind as to what should happen next, but as soon as the confiscated lightsaber was swiftly clipped to Qui-Gon's belt the Jedi Master knelt at his ashen apprentice's side. Kenobi's breath rattled and wheezed in his chest and somewhere amidst his battered emotions pride rose within Dooku that he'd managed to destroy the defiled Padawan after all.

Perhaps there was still a chance.

OoOoOoOoOo

Qui-Gon pulled the tattered edges of his old robe tighter from where they fluttered loosely against Obi-Wan's bare shoulders. He'd done what he could for his Padawan with the shamefully inadequate medkit at the cabin, but in the end he'd gently pressed a bacta pack to the gaping hole, guided Obi-Wan's shivering fingers to hold it in place as best he could, and bundled the Padawan into his arms to make the quick hike to their small Council ship. Qui-Gon couldn't spare a thought for Dooku, couldn't even process what his old Master had _**done**_; he knew only that Kenobi's time was short and he could deal with the ramifications of Dooku's actions later.

And how he would deal with them would depend in no small amount upon whether Kenobi lived or died.

"Come with me," Qui-Gon barked at Dooku as he gently settled Obi-Wan's shaggy ginger head against his shoulder. "And do not try anything rash; you've already made it very easy to choose between the two of you," he advised coldly. It was unlike one so fervently in the grip of the Living Force to sound so hateful, but Qui-Gon was beyond caring so he simply and lightly tugged the long braid he'd plaited just a short time before to let the failing Padawan in his arms know he was there as he took each measured step as carefully as possible to avoid jostling Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon tried to ignore the way Dooku shuffled brokenly behind him; with the proud set to shoulders absent, he looked like nothing more than a tired old man, weary from the weight of the world. Qui-Gon wasn't about to let his guard down, however, and as tiring as it was, he did his best to feed energy into Obi-Wan while keeping his senses stretched toward Dooku in the event his power started to swell or he tried to escape. Qui-Gon would have almost preferred it if Dooku escaped, for little mercy would await the rogue Jedi at the hands of the Council, but if escape meant the possibility that Dooku would try for Obi-Wan again, Qui-Gon would prevent it at all possible costs. Had he been in a more lenient state of mind, Qui-Gon would have also encouraged himself with the thought that perhaps mercy _**would**_ be shown and somehow the master he'd respected and cherished would be returned from the twisted and prideful man he'd become, but as he bore the dying and wasted frame of his Padawan in his arms, Qui-Gon wasn't much feeling lenient at present.

OoOoOoOoOo

It was a somber Jedi Master that finally relinquished the ship's controls to autopilot and trudged back to the hold area. Qui-Gon had no idea what to do with Dooku - he didn't trust his former master, yet what could he do? - so he'd settled for dragging the older Jedi around everywhere on the ship he went. This wasn't the worst solution, but it certainly wasn't optimal as Dooku was slowly recovering the pieces of his mind and control that had scattered when Obi-Wan had pushed him too far, and Dooku in control of his faculties was very dangerous, especially when Qui-Gon's own reserves were desperately low.

For the moment the old Jedi was ignored, though Qui-Gon kept his senses attuned and prayed desperately to the Force for help. Qui-Gon hunkered down near the narrow bunk and let his gaze drift over his Padawan's pale face. He didn't know if Obi-Wan was going to survive or not, and for the moment there was little he could do except throw a warning glance at Dooku as he wrapped Obi-Wan's slender finger amidst his large grasp.

Tired eyes from beneath sweat-soaked strands of shaggy ginger hair cracked open and struggled to focus on him, and Qui-Gon squeezed the lax hand in his grip. "Don't try to speak," Qui-Gon instructed grimly, gentle despite the grief sharpening his tone. "Save your energy."

He knew they had a fledgling bond established, and he almost allowed a sad laugh at the bitter and foolish old man he'd been when Obi-Wan had first entered his life and he'd stubbornly refused to allow a training link between them. It certainly would have been useful now; the weak connection between them was enough for Qui-Gon to try and blunt the edges of Obi-Wan's pain, but he still had to allow sufficient energy to monitor Dooku and it drained him rapidly.

Obi-Wan gave him a weary headshake, and for once Qui-Gon actually wished him to again be the silent and submissive apprentice he'd nearly utterly despised for his quietly unquestioning willingness to follow Qui-Gon's directives.

"Just let me go," Obi-Wan whispered, and Qui-Gon couldn't bear the absolute certainty in Obi-Wan's eyes that this is what he wanted, that this was an escape from the scars and burdens thrust upon him in his young life that he would willingly accept if it would mean an end to his unending sorrow.

The first burn of moisture gathered in the corners of Qui-Gon's eyes. "I can't do that," he said softly, and he forced a smile he didn't feel. "It's not really that horrible, Padawan," he lied. "You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Obi-Wan's grey eyes were wide and pleading, begging for something Qui-Gon couldn't bring himself to give. "But _**I**_ am," he whispered. "_**I'm**_ that horrible. I can't … Please…"

Qui-Gon couldn't listen to any more. He dropped gentle fingers against Kenobi's clammy brow with a silent suggestion to _sleep_ and leave behind what pain and cares he could until death or healing came for him. As Qui-Gon checked the bacta bandage pressed against Kenobi's wound he heard Dooku stir behind him.

"You do him no kindness by trying to pull him back from the edge to a place he doesn't even want to be," Dooku said, and his voice was pitched low, his words reasonable and plaintive.

"I cannot let him die," Qui-Gon replied dully. He turned to face his old master while he still clutched at Kenobi's fingers, for no other reason than that he refused to let the other Jedi infer from the tired set of his shoulders that his poisonous words were actually striking a chord with Qui-Gon when they most certainly were not. Obi-Wan was in no state to mind to make _**any**_ sort of decision, and he wasn't about to let the man who had struck his padawan down influence him in the slightest.

"You cannot let him return to the Force like so desperately wants?" Dooku pressed mildly. "Your Council will never fully accept him, and he will every day bear the weight of sins he will never forgive himself for. Is _**that**_ the life you would choose for him?"

OoOoOoOoOo

"It is not my choice to make," Qui-Gon said quietly, though a small chink appeared in Qui-Gon's armor.

For Dooku, it was enough.

"_**But**_," Dooku added lowly, knowing he was taking a risk but he did not have much to lose: he had to strike before they reached Coruscant, and he needed to catch Qui-Gon off-guard, to make Qui-Gon weak, and hopeful_; _for hope had always been one of his former's padawan's gravest flaws."There is _**another**_ option we have already discussed, Qui-Gon; a new Order of Jedi unafraid to exist fully with the Force." Dooku leaned in earnestly as hesitation flickered across Qui-Gon's face. as His words had struck a chord of fear within the younger Master and Dooku knew it might only take a little more twisting for the exhausted Qui-Gon to see Dooku go from Obi-Wan's murderer to Obi-Wan's savior.

"Well, my friend," Dooku said gently, "What say you? What hope will you choose for Obi-Wan, to give him the courage to live?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Please review! And thanks if you can!


	24. XXIV

So, wow. I got transferred a couple of months ago and I absolutely loathe my new department, but I've been swamped. So here I am, with a bunch a fic to upload over the next couple of days, more whumpy h/c-ness for those who enjoy it to enjoy. ;)

Thanks for reading!

**New Arrangements **

By: Syntyche

Chapter Twenty-Four

_His words had struck a chord of fear within the younger Master and Dooku knew it might only take a little more twisting for the exhausted Qui-Gon to see Dooku go from Obi-Wan's murderer to Obi-Wan's savior. _

"_Well, my friend," Dooku said gently, "What say you? What hope will you choose for Obi-Wan, to give him the courage to live?"_

Words had amazing power.

Qui-Gon Jinn knew that well, perhaps better than many: his primary role within the Jedi Order demanded it. He was a teacher, a negotiator, a peacemaker, a spokesman; he wielded words before weapons, and if there was a clear way to mutually satisfy any parties involved through calm and directed discussion, he always and automatically chose that path.

Now, he considered his former master's statement carefully, understanding that the other man had a clear point, Obi-Wan's defeated words ringing persistently in his ear: _Just let me go._

He brushed thick fingers down Obi-Wan's arm gently, swallowing back emotions that tried to wash over him as he struggled to release them into the vast brilliance of the Force. It was difficult to be objective with Dooku's ruthless handiwork staring him right in the face: Obi-Wan's skin was ashen, his bloodless lips parted as he struggled to draw precious air into wheezing lungs. Every breath was hard fought for; each respiration seemed shallower and weaker than the one before it. Obi-Wan was sliding away, and to Qui-Gon's despairing mind it drew unwanted parallels with the almost loss of his last apprentice to the Dark: Obi-Wan slipped farther from him, but unlike Aleith he drifted toward permanent darkness from which there was no redemption, no coming back. There would be no joyous embrace from a greatly relieved master as years of training and the sense of _right_ brought a lost one home.

There would be no more wry grins, or eye-rolling, or longsuffering but good-natured complaining. No more Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Dooku's plaintive question refused to be silenced, rattling around his exhausted mind as his thumb traced Obi-Wan's knuckle. What _**could**_ he say to Kenobi? The padawan had suffered much and suffered greatly in his young life, burdens too heavy for many to bear but somehow Obi-Wan had persevered, had survived to see day after day when the odds against him clearly said he shouldn't. Obi-Wan had lived his life with choices that ought to have been his taken from him and made by others.

Could Qui-Gon do that to him also, even if Obi-Wan's choice was to willingly join the Force, away from heartache and pain and betrayal?

Qui-Gon pushed slick strands of hair from Obi-Wan's forehead. Kenobi looked incredibly, impossibly young, because he was.

"Qui-Gon," continued the voice of reason smoothly, sitting calmly behind him, confident, secure, excited. "Let us allow Kenobi a better life; shouldn't we? Does he not deserve it after all the sorrow, all the pain he's already experienced?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, left his fingertips resting on Obi-Wan's brow as the skin beneath his hand grew colder by the second … or perhaps that was just his imagination?

Choices.

It was all about choices.

"He does deserve it," Qui-Gon said softly, allowing a small, fond smile to stretch across his weathered face as he gazed down at his ailing padawan. Then his smile faded, and his blue eyes shuttered and hardened as he turned to his former master.

"Because of you he may no longer have a choice to make at all."

Dooku's self-assured façade slipped a little. "Qui-Gon, surely - "

"If you say one more word," Qui-Gon warned softly, "I will kill you myself." A humorless smile flashed across his tightened lips. "_**That**_ choice, at least, is yours."

OoOoOoOoOo

A murmur of thanks on his breath slipped in between the endless entreaties for mercy as he landed the little ship just a touch shakily on the designated platform. It had been a long, draining trip, his attention unhappily divided between his old master and his dying apprentice.

What Qui-Gon really wanted to do was collapse on his bed and sleep for a day or possibly four; what he did was watch numbly as Obi-Wan was efficiently transported to the healer's wing and Dooku was remanded into Temple custody with a last forlorn yet hopeful glance at his former padawan.

Mindlessly, Qui-Gon allowed his feet to follow the path of the healers. Though he could have accompanied Dooku to lend his version of events to the barrage of demanding questions sure to come from Yoda, Qui-Gon didn't spare a second thought to Dooku as he strode exhaustedly to a wing of the Temple he hadn't spent much time in since he'd been stricken with terrible headaches following Obi-Wan's disappearance months ago.

He passed a few fellow Jedi on his way, and he consciously ignored the curious and concerned glances sent his way. There was a smattering of dark red droplets across his beige tunics that drew more attention than he wanted, and he was too emotionally fatigued to even appreciate the ripples of emotion that flickered beneath fabled Jedi calm as they were directed at his rumpled appearance and grief-stained face.

He was stopped at the entryway to the Healers, much to his weary dismay, and Qui-Gon found that he could barely summon the energy to do little more than simply stand and wait as directed, an exhausted sentry numbly awaiting the dreaded pronouncement of defeat or the blazing joy of renewed hope.

Qui-Gon still stood unmoving upwards of four hours later - six hours? Eight? - patiently ignoring polite but firm requests that he get some rest, that they would absolutely comm him when there was definitive news, that he really ought to submit to his own examination. His frayed nerves had him nearly ready to pull his lightsaber on the next individual that _**dared**_ suggest he leave, when a familiar scuffing shuffle reached his ears. Qui-Gon neither moved nor acknowledged Yoda's presence as the old Council member drew level to where Qui-Gon leaned dully against the door frame.

"Rest, you should get," Yoda finally announced, "until news there is."

Qui-Gon ignored him, blinking slowly against the too-bright lighting persistently assaulting his gummy eyes from within. The tip of one of Yoda's long green ears twitched.

"Doing young Kenobi no good are you by propping up this doorframe when time with the Force, serve you better it would, I think."

Qui-Gon's taut jaw gave a little tic. "Maybe I'm keeping the building from falling down on him by propping it up. That's at least a little good for him."

He was unsurprised when Yoda chuckled; the little troll, he thought with a flash of genuine amusement and affection, had a sense of humor as twisted as his syntax.

"Guilt, you feel," Yoda murmured sagely, and Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. He didn't mean to, really, but he just wasn't up for tired clichés right now and what-could-have-beens and what-he-should-have-dones. _**And**_ to have someone as persistently insistent as Yoda at telling him _**not**_ to feel, it was most annoying to Qui-Gon that Yoda was now trying to tell him what he was feeling … and _**then**_ that he shouldn't be feeling it in the first place.

_Ugh_, Qui-Gon thought, having trouble wrapping his weary brain around his own garbled thoughts. "You're giving me a headache," he frowned at Yoda, with just a hint of irritation.

Another small chuckle erupted from his companion, and the sound seemed to melt some of the frigid ice chilling Qui-Gon's heart. With a small, crumpled sigh, Qui-Gon finally gave in and let his body, aching from tension, slide down the wall until he was positioned most uncomfortably with his back against the doorframe and his broad shoulders hunched forward. Immediately, cold from the polished floor began to seep through his pant legs and Qui-Gon closed his eyes gratefully, welcoming even the smallest numbing sensation into a frame that was too tense, too tired, too overdrawn.

"Please wake me as soon as there's news," he muttered softly, and Qui-Gon was fairly certain that sweet, blissful darkness was lulling him away reluctantly when a stubby, clawed finger stabbed at his shin uncomfortably.

"News, I have," Yoda informed him, his ear twitching in lieu of an eyebrow raise. Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open.

"What? What the hell?!" the Jedi Master demanded irritably, the fuzzy edge of almost-slumber creeping across his voice to make him sound more petulant than he wanted. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Why think would you that found you I would have if news I had not?" Yoda questioned plaintively and Qui-Gon resisted the urge to drop his head into his palms as his brain tried to sort the jumbled of words into a phrase he could translate. He finally gave up, feeling even more depleted than he had before. "I cannot even make sense of that right now," he admitted with a sigh.

The sparkle in Yoda's large eyes dimmed and his clawed hand went to rest gently on Qui-Gon's upraised knee. "Unveiled, has Dooku's madness been. Much harm has he done but stopped now he is."

Qui-Gon shook his head, almost expecting to see more grey than usual in the long strands of mahogany that drifted into his eyes because he certainly felt older, paler. If only he'd said something, done something more … but he'd returned from Garos thinking the old man dead and his story in the Force ended. He'd listened to Dooku's earnest words, found himself disbelieving yet wanting to believe at the same time, for was it wrong to want study of the Force and Jedi training open to more students, more who begged to learn the ways of the Jedi but were instead turned cruelly away?

"Did no one suspect?" Qui-Gon finally asked roughly. "Did no one know Dooku's true self?"

Yoda was quiet for a moment, the thick fingers on Qui-Gon's knee tightening just slightly. "Some, there were, who knew or suspected … " he said quietly, then shook himself from his drifting thoughts to focus clearly on Qui-Gon once again. "Remains, the question does, of what with young Kenobi will we do. Suffered much and suffered greatly, he has."

The damning, heavy words didn't want to come from Qui-Gon's mouth but they ground past anyway in a forced, tear-laden hush that made his strong voice crack and shudder. "He wishes not to be healed," Qui-Gon said. "He wishes to join the Force."

Yoda pondered this silently, his eyes downcast and his expression grave. Finally he said, "The best for the young padawan, that might be."

Qui-Gon's mouth plummeted in shock, working ineffectually as no words stumbled out beyond a disbelieving, "… Master?"

Yoda was strangely calm as he answered, and it seemed to Qui-Gon that time was slowing as they spoke, that the hustle and bustle just beyond the doorway he was perched in faded out into background noise and a blur of white - that all that mattered, right now, were the words of the Council member at his side.

"Know," answered Yoda, "some Jedi do, when their time to join the Force it is. Strong in the Unifying Force is young Kenobi, and shown great adeptness at prescience, he has."

"Really?" Qui-Gon asked caustically, making a sharp, exhausted gesture toward the rooms beyond, in one of which lay Obi-Wan Kenobi as Healers continued their fight to save his life - a fight the padawan himself had little interest in participating in. "Did he see _**this**_ coming?"

Yoda remained quiet, looking at Qui-Gon with an emotion the Jedi Master might have labeled pity if he could believe there was emotion there at all. Dread started to creep into Qui-Gon's empty stomach, curling cold fingers up around his ribcage and gripping his insides in a vise.

"Master Yoda?" he said faintly.

Yoda's gaze cleared, shifted to calm as he settled his eyes upon the agitated Jedi hunkered at his feet. Finally, he said,

"Wanted to save you, Obi-Wan did. Dissuade him, I could not."

"I don't … I don't understand," Qui-Gon stammered, the words stumbling off his tongue which suddenly seemed entirely too clumsy. He could _feel_ the blood rushing to his feet, leaving sharp stinging nettles under his skin.

"No more to say on this have I right now," Yoda murmured. "Rest, you should, while wait on young Obi-Wan and the will of the Force, we must."

The Council member turned away, and Qui-Gon wanted to grab for him, to shake the answers out of him but he didn't, couldn't summon the energy to move past the words tumbling around his brain. _Save me. Save me? Obi-Wan_…_?!_

He needed to see Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon determined that no healer - that no one at all - would stand in his way this time, exhaustion be damned! He pushed himself to shaky feet, ignoring the insistent requests to sleep he had in his weariness given in to before and pushed his way through, almost sobbing in relief when he finally picked up a whisper across his mind that belonged to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He followed the link and burst into Kenobi's room without preamble, startling the several Healers still crouching over Obi-Wan's unconscious form. Mace Windu was there as well, watching over the young padawan and lending whatever healing aid or strength he could. The somber Council member looked more alert than Qui-Gon felt, and Qui-Gon realized that the senior Jedi and Council members must have been rotating through the room to assist wherever possible. Qui-Gon wondered bitterly why he hadn't been asked to help even as he knew it was against protocol in such extreme cases for the master to assist in case something went terribly wrong and the lives of both would then be threatened through their bond.

_But_, Qui-Gon thought bitterly, it wasn't as though he and Obi-Wan even had a fully-formed link thanks to his stubbornness, so there wasn't as great a chance for damaging backlash into his own mind.

Mace looked completely unsurprised to see him, going to so far as to comment, "What took you so long?"

Qui-Gon tossed him a dark look, though he wondered the same thing; usually a little thing like a half-dozen healers trying to keep him out was no impediment at all. He covered his concern with annoyance, demanding roughly, "Well?"

Mace shook his dark head slowly. "His body is weak … his mind is … elsewhere."

"Let me speak with him," Qui-Gon murmured softly, hands already reaching for his apprentice's shoulder, bare where his tunics had been cut away.

"He's unresponsive," Mace informed him tersely, and his eyes were sad as he admitted, "I don't think he's coming back this time, Qui-Gon."

But Qui-Gon knew the strength of Obi-Wan's will, knew the padawan had gotten back up so many times he should have stayed down that he didn't doubt for a moment Obi-Wan _**would**_ be there, waiting, deciding, _looking_ for a reason, for some small promise of a better life.

He saw in Mace's expression that he thought Qui-Gon a hopeful fool, but the Jedi couldn't focus on that right now.

"If you'll kindly let me try and save my padawan," Qui-Gon said stiffly, pushing swiftly past Mace and the other Healers to sit at Obi-Wan's bedside.

OoOoOoOoOo

So sad to see this coming to an end after so many years, just a chap or two left. Thanks again to everyone who has amazingly stuck it out this long, welcome to new readers, and please leave a review if you can! If you're looking for more h/c goodness, check out Brink if you like, which is rolling through more of the whumpy h/ phase right now, but the /c is there eventually too. : ) Please review if you can!


	25. XXV

**New Arrangements **

By: Syntyche

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sunlight streamed brightly through the windows of the common room, touching off the brilliant petals and vibrantly healthy leaves of Qui-Gon's vast collection of flora. The warm light illuminated delicate veins skittering through the textures of multicolored leaves, raising tiny lines on the surface that his large fingers bumped over lightly as he traced the paper-thin foliage. Qui-Gon stood at the window, idly drifting a hand across a flower that bloomed on the sill: the Alderaanian lily he'd put on Obi-Wan Kenobi's desk so long ago, when the apprentice had taken up his first temporary residence with Qui-Gon. The Jedi Master couldn't believe the plant had survived this long but it had, clinging tenaciously to life when better odds said it shouldn't - much like the young man he had gifted it to nearly two years before.

Qui-Gon's gaze was unfocused, the heavy traffic outside his window just a blur as he recalled that day, and the many days that had followed it as he'd struggled to be an unwilling teacher and master to a padawan who should have already taken his trials but had been denied. Qui-Gon hadn't known at the time the extent of damage Obi-Wan had already suffered in his young life, but he had learned, slowly, that there were many layers of scarring both mental and physical to Kenobi, and even now as he thought on his padawan Qui-Gon heard the whisper in his mind of Obi-Wan's quiet request to just let him go, heard Yoda's plaintive voice agreeing that it might be for the best.

He hadn't wanted to believe that was best. Stubborn to a fault, determined, _**desperate**_, he'd thought he could save Obi-Wan after Dooku had nearly killed him.

Force, how he'd tried.

OoOoOoOoOo

_When Qui-Gon opened his eyes, he was most struck by the vivid blackness surrounding him, broken only by arcing, jagged streaks of brilliant lightning that sliced though his vision and made him squint reflexively against the assault. Shielding his eyes was a purely instinctive response; he didn't have the corporeal presence to back it up but it made him feel like he was doing __**something**__. _

_Qui-Gon was immediately assailed by the prevailing and almost panicked thought that he was scared, that he didn't want to be here in this hellish limbo, but the Jedi Master had enough control and presence of mind to realize that the emotion was not his own but rather belonged to the young man whose psyche he was visiting._

"_Well, Padawan," he said softly into the darkness, "it seems we are once again at a point of decision." _

_The shift of coarse fabric drew his attention to his right where he could now see Obi-Wan sitting, alone and quiet. The Padawan didn't look up at Qui-Gon's gentle words; he was slumped forward, arms wrapped around his knees loosely, his entire conjectural self radiating defeat and despair, and a glimmer of hope that was almost entirely crushed by apathy. _

"_Are we?" Obi-Wan asked listlessly. He didn't seem at all surprised to see Qui-Gon manifested in his mind. "Perhaps we should just wait and see what happens, instead."_

_Qui-Gon nodded. He could tell the padawan was hurting, knew that in the outside world Obi-Wan Kenobi was __**dying**__, but as long as he was here, as long as __**they**__ were here, there was a chance. _

"_We could, I suppose." He gingerly settled himself next to his apprentice, bending stiff knees into a cross-legged position he knew he'd pay for later - well, would if he were actually doing the physical movement. "That doesn't seem like a very productive choice, though, does it?"_

_Obi-Wan lifted his head fractionally but long strands of ginger slipped into his face, obscuring it mostly from Qui-Gon's view. He said nothing, just sat quietly, waiting._

_Qui-Gon didn't like the blackness, he didn't like the defeat crushing Obi-Wan's shoulders. _

"_So, you knew?" Qui-Gon continued, tilting his head curiously. You knew about Dooku, knew he would come after you eventually, but you went along with it anyway?" He didn't want to feel the spark of anger that jumped to life inside of him, anger at this one more hoop the bastards on the Council had forced this guilt-ridden boy to jump through to prove that he was still worth something. _

_His anger, however, evaporated with Kenobi's startling next words. _

"_It was my idea," Obi-Wan said simply. "He would have kept at you until he swayed you to join him."_

_Qui-Gon knew as soon as the padawan spoke the words that they were true; he didn't even offer a token denial. Dooku __**would**__ have eventually convinced Qui-Gon to leave the Order; the Council would have declared him rogue and hunted him down. _

"_You have yet to fulfill your purpose," Obi-Wan added, sage and strangely distant. To Qui-Gon's surprise, tiny slivers of electric blue started to hum in the air around Obi-Wan; it reminded him of the discordant buzz that used to fill Obi-Wan's space, when his walls and control were jagged and damaged. This noise, this feeling, however, was warm where it had before been cold, calm where it had been anxious. Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice the blue light casting against the shadows on his pale face._

"_You chose to save me," Qui-Gon pointed out, "at the risk of leaving your own purpose undone." _

_Obi-Wan huffed a little laugh through his nose. "You were - you __**are**__ - worth it, Qui-Gon." There was no emotion in his blank gaze as he looked into the darkness surrounding them. "I __**have**__ fulfilled my purpose."_

"_No," Qui-Gon said shortly, unwilling to believe that this was what the Force had ultimately called and cultivated this young man for: to sacrifice himself so a stubborn old man would stay in the Light. He crossed his arms defiantly. "I don't accept that." _

"_Master Jinn," Obi-Wan said with a small smile, "Will you challenge fate?"_

OoOoOoOoOo

Even now, Qui-Gon had to laugh at Kenobi's quiet words. Challenge fate? Question the Force? Of _**course**_ he had to. He didn't, couldn't, ascribe to blind faith, to a power that refused to be questioned. If he didn't ask, how would be find the answers?

No. Faith was meant to be stretched, tried, pulled, questioned. And Qui-Gon had not yet run out of questions.

OoOoOoOoOo

"_My dear Padawan," Qui-Gon said gently, "what is my worth compared to yours?"_

_Obi-Wan looked confused, as though he couldn't quite comprehend the inquiry - or that Qui-Gon had even asked it. The Jedi Master was sadly unsurprised, however; young Kenobi had spent his entire life being told and treated like he had no value other than to be used as those who controlled him saw fit. _

"_I don't…" Obi-Wan started hesitantly, his brow rumpled as words skidded to a stop at his thinned lips. "You're Qui-Gon Jinn," he finally settled on. "I'm … _" _a vague wave toward a robed body that Qui-Gon knew in real life was scarred, burned, and torn. _"… _well, this."_

_Qui-Gon leaned forward over his knees, bending closer to catch Kenobi's flitting grey gaze with his own steady stare. "Obi-Wan," he said carefully, "You are getting caught up in your emotion, caught up in the moment. What you ought to be thinking of is your future."_

"_Future?" Obi-Wan didn't laugh, but skepticism was heavy in his tone. The blue flashes, Qui-Gon noted, were increasing in intensity, and Qui-Gon could hear that Obi-Wan's breathing - even here, in Kenobi's own mind - was becoming labored. He had to hurry. _

"_How can I, Master Jinn, focus on a future that is 'always in motion,'" Obi-Wan quoted rotely, "when the past that has already solidly occurred dictates my every step?"_

"_It need not be that way," Qui-Gon protested, trying to keep the anxiety he was beginning to feel from creeping into his voice. His confidence began to falter. "But we don't have much time, Obi-Wan. I will help you, if you'll come with me now."_

_Obi-Wan shook his head ruefully. "I … appreciate the offer, Qui-Gon, I truly do. But I am ready to join the Force. I am ready for peace." He looked suddenly, horribly anxious as he stuttered quickly, "Have I not earned it, Master? Is there more I must yet do, more I must give to pay for what I've done? If there is, Qui-Gon, please tell me," his voice trailed off, pleading yet, hopeful still. "Please."_

_The question was so heartbreakingly simple, the apprentice's tone so heavy with hurt and despair, that Qui-Gon's breath shuddered to a halt, his heart slamming against his ribs painfully. Obi-Wan's grey eyes lifted and looked into Qui-Gon's, and they were heavy with shame and recrimination but a faint gleam of desperate hope burned brightly in their aching depths. _

"_Just tell me," he said softly, "what more I need to do so I can finally rest."_

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There were tears running down Qui-Gon's face that he lifted a shaking hand to brush away. Even now, with days of joy and sorrow that had passed since that quietly rending conversation, he couldn't think back on his former apprentice's pain without feeling an ache in his chest that hadn't gone away.

Qui-Gon gathered up his robe and shrugged into it slowly, feeling more than a physical weight shroud him as he settled the heavy fabric over his shoulders.

It was time to go.

The walk to the Council chambers seemed so far tonight, and Qui-Gon trod slowly, his mind adrift in a swirl of thoughts. His step was measured, his shoulders bowed; at one time he had stalked proudly through these halls, head high, tall and commanding and unassailable.

No one had called Qui-Gon Jinn proud in some time.

The Jedi had changed the day when he brought Obi-Wan Kenobi home and Master Dooku back to face justice. No longer hard, and cold, and rebellious was the Jedi Master who had been legendary for his forceful and continuous defiance and rebuttal of Council decrees.

He reached the heavy doors to the large chambers and drew his hood over his sharp, leonine features and graying hair: he wanted to look the part for his padawan tonight. Qui-Gon drew a deep breath and pushed open the doors to enter the dimly lit room; he moved noiselessly to the center, taking in the solemn faces peeking out from hooded robes; he felt their eyes following him as he slowed to a stop near Master Yoda.

There was no noise amongst the assembled and Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably. Be it a funeral or a Knighting, the Jedi could staunchly be counted on for their rigid upholding of tradition.

Tears he had earlier pushed away threatened to crowd Qui-Gon's eyes once more as he looked upon the still, finally calm form of Obi-Wan Kenobi, shrouded in his robe, lightsaber at his side.

Obi-Wan's choice still rang loudly in his mind, made Qui-Gon now consider the repercussions of decisions he made daily just a half second longer before charging ahead like he'd used to.

Qui-Gon glanced at Yoda and the small master gave him a nod, his large eyes content yet proud. Qui-Gon returned the nod and swallowed past the catch in his throat as he prepared to speak the ritual words as required, turning his gaze out to face the assembled. He hoped Obi-Wan had found the peace he'd wanted so badly…

The journey of Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi had finally ended.

_Finis_

I can't believe this story is over. I intentionally left the ending ambiguous so the reader is free to choose their ending: whether Obi-Wan goes on to join the Force and this is a funeral, or he stays and this is his Knighting. I find both endings equally satisfying. :D

That being said … lol … for those who chose for Obi-Wan to live, I'm considering writing a few (much) shorter stories about the continuing adventures of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan in this AU universe, starting with why Obi-Wan decided not to join the Force yet. Let me know if you're interested! I promise they won't take so long to finish. ;D

Thanks for reading! I have greatly appreciated every single review and the continued support of readers. Like the Rewrite, some of you have been with this fic since the beginning and I am awed and humbled by your continued attention. Thank you!


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